Chapter 91

ISABELLA
How was I supposed to tell him he wasn’t a stranger?
That I had met him in places no one else knew—places he reserved only for himself. Places I was never supposed to return to. But I did. Over and over.
He had blindfolded me. Tied me up. Kissed me. Fucked me. And I had let him. Not just my body, but my sight, my trust. My heart.
I used to follow him blindly—not because I craved the thrill, but because I trusted him with parts of myself I hadn’t even come to terms with. I had submitted everything. Every piece of me.
But instead of saying any of that, I nodded. Because what else was there to say?
“So,” I asked as we reached the garage, “where are we going next? Another place we’ll have to run from the second someone notices us?”
He stopped beside a sleek black Ferrari—the newest model. Flashy. Loud. Everything Levi didn’t usually go for. Which is how I knew it was for promo—stunting for the brand, trying to boost sales. It was working too. I had so many ideas for the next campaign, so many directions we could take the image—racing events, elite showcases, gritty city tours.
God, I wanted in. I wanted to be needed by him in that world.
But one step at a time. First, I had to marry him.
“Seems like you’re some kind of celebrity,” I said, pretending I didn’t already know the answer.
“Will you stop asking all these damn questions?” he snapped, eyes sharp and burning. His irritation made my stomach flip in a way I hated—hot, fluttery, dangerous. It made my toes curl. Made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t name.
I crossed my arms. “Well, you just reminded me that you’re a complete stranger. So yeah, I’d like to know where said stranger plans on taking me. Especially if I’m getting into his car.”
I turned to glance over my shoulder—and froze.
There it was. My truck. Dusty, dented, rusting at the corners. Sitting awkwardly beside a row of pristine, showroom-level cars that probably cost more than my entire existence.
My throat tightened.
That truck wasn’t just a vehicle. It was my constant. My anchor. It had carried me through long nights, ER visits, post-breakdown sob sessions, last-minute getaways. Matt had loved it too.
“Who’s going to drive my truck?” I asked, my voice soft despite everything. “I’m not leaving it here, am I?”
I knew how ridiculous it sounded. But it was mine. The only thing in my life no one had touched.
Levi didn’t even blink. He opened the Ferrari’s passenger door with cold detachment.
“Get in the car,” he said. “And give me your damn keys.”
I hesitated.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve questioned him. But I handed them over, thinking he’d call valet or security or... something.
I was wrong.
As soon as I clipped my seatbelt in, I looked out the window—and froze.
Levi was walking back toward my truck. My keys swung lazily from his fingers.
My pulse kicked.
Maybe he was going to park it somewhere safe. Maybe he just didn’t want to leave it out on display. That made sense. Right?
Then I saw it.
He gestured to a nearby security guard, handed him a bill, and whispered something I couldn’t hear. The man nodded and vanished.
I sat up straighter.
“Wait,” I whispered. My hand moved toward the door. “Wait, what the hell are you doing—?”
The guard came back with a giant piece of cardboard.
I bolted from the Ferrari. “Levi!”
He didn’t turn around.
My feet slammed the pavement. My heart pounded in my ears. “What the hell are you doing?” I screamed.
The streetlights were dim, but I saw enough.
The guard walked up to my truck and taped the cardboard to the windshield.
Thick black letters. Sharp. Jagged. Permanent.
Here’s a free car for whoever wants it.
My breath caught. My knees buckled.
What the hell.
What the actual hell?
I sprinted for it, but Levi’s hand caught me mid-lunge. His grip locked around my arm with maddening ease, like catching a balloon on a string. And just like that—he lifted me off the ground.
“Let go of me!” I shrieked, struggling in his grasp. “I need to get my car!”
I didn’t even feel the transition until it happened—until I was shoved back into the Ferrari, limbs bent awkwardly, body folding like a ragdoll under his strength. The seatbelt clicked across my lap before I could breathe.
“You crazy man! I’m going to lose my car!” I yelled, slamming my hands against the window, trying to undo the buckle.
The door slammed shut. A cold finality. One I felt deep in my bones.
The engine came to life—smooth and cold, like everything else about him.
He didn’t look at me. Not even once.
“You should be glad I helped you get rid of it,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm. “The car’s worth losing.”
I stared at him. My mouth parted. Words formed—but none made it out.
He really just gave away my truck.
Just like that. No warning. No apology. Not even a flicker of remorse.
“Stop! Let me go back and get it!” I cried, fists pounding the window. “I swear, I’ll scream! I’ll flag down a cop! You can’t just—”
My voice cracked.
A sob clawed its way out of me—deep and ugly. I didn’t care how it looked. Let him think I was weak. Let him see it. That truck had been mine. My only thing. And now it was gone.
I would make him pay for this.
He didn’t flinch. Not even a muscle moved.
“You won’t be doing any of that,” he said, voice flat. “I’m going to replace the damn car. Didn’t I mention that earlier?”
I froze. The words landed awkwardly in my head.
Replace it?
My thoughts couldn’t catch up.
Why would he do that? This wasn’t just some random tantrum. Levi didn’t waste things. Was this a power play? Some twisted flex? A claim?
“I don’t want anything from you that’s not in the contract,” I said. My voice cracked despite the edge I tried to hold.
Besides—why would he do anything for me if he’d already forgotten me?
Except... he hadn’t.
I knew it.
He just wouldn’t say it.
Silence stretched between us like a blade.
Then, low and quiet, he said, “You’re wondering why I’d want to do that.”
I clenched my jaw. “I don’t need your charity.”
He scoffed. “This isn’t charity. And it’s not about you.”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
“I did it,” he added, “because you’re going to be my wife.”
Thump.
The word wife echoed inside me like thunder in a cave.
“And no wife of mine,” he finished, voice cool and resolute, “is going to be seen driving that... thing.”