Chapter 94

LEVI

When I finally pulled into the sweeping, circular driveway of my home in Queens, the familiar, heavy silence was the first thing to greet me. The wide, paved stones beneath my tires curved gracefully around a centerpiece fountain, its waters catching the last light of the moon. The house loomed ahead—grand, symmetrical, and gleaming under the soft glow of wrought iron lanterns that framed the dark double doors. Clean lines, pristine white walls, black-trimmed windows, and perfectly sculpted shrubs gave it a timeless, almost ruthless elegance.
I didn’t even get the chance to savor the silence before my phone rang, vibrating against the console with the name I could never ignore—Dad.
I sighed and answered.
“Levi,” he barked without preamble, “the wedding is still on for next week, correct?”
“Yeah, it’s still on,” I replied smoothly.
“Good. Stop by the house tomorrow. We’ve got a multitude of business matters to discuss. Bring Jenna with you, if she’s still around,” he added, his voice firm, a command disguised as a request.
“Sure,” I said, ending the call before he could say more.
I had no desire to make mention of Jenna—or that she wouldn’t be walking down the aisle with me. Or that I hadn’t seen her since the night I found her cheating. And definitely not that I felt nothing about it anymore.
As I sat there for a moment longer, staring at the quiet street outside, I realized how little love had ever been between Jenna and me. Hell, it hadn’t even been affection—it had been necessity.
She had been beautiful, poised, the perfect accessory for the life I was expected to lead. I had hoped that, over time, something deeper might grow between us. It hadn’t. It never would have.
I had been surrounded by beautiful women my entire life, but none had ever touched the part of me that mattered. Love felt like something other men experienced, something I was supposed to aspire to but never really believed in.
The women who chased after me—they wanted my name, my status, my money. They didn’t want me. I knew that. I had always known. Jenna’s betrayal just confirmed it.
Now, I was determined to protect myself. No more love. No more foolish emotional investments. Just clean lines and clear expectations.
Which was why my marriage to Isabella made perfect sense: a contract. A year-long agreement with defined terms and no surprises. Intimacy would be part of it—but no children. I had made that very clear. I had no interest in offspring born of a cold agreement. If Dad wanted grandkids so badly, he could adopt.
I just hoped Isabella had caught that little change in the terms of the contract. With the advice of my attorney Pascal, we had changed the term from a week to a year when we met at the law office. She had nodded, sure, but I wasn’t convinced she had been listening.
“But she said she was listening,” I muttered under my breath, raking a hand through my hair as I finally climbed out of the car.
The front doors opened easily to the cool embrace of the marble-floored living room, the rich stone gleaming under the recessed lighting. Every surface in the house spoke of deliberate opulence—high-end, but never gaudy. Neutral-toned furniture, sharp-edged coffee tables, art pieces that whispered rather than shouted. The marble ran all the way into the open-concept kitchen, where state-of-the-art appliances were built into custom white cabinetry and the counters were slabs of veined stone so perfect they seemed untouched by human hands.
The faucet squeaked as I poured myself a glass of water, savoring the simplicity of the task. I could afford a full staff, but I preferred doing things myself—cooking, cleaning. It was one of the few ways I stayed grounded. When I return to Italy, I can have it all there, but here in New York I just wanted to enjoy simplicity.
As I carried the glass back toward my bedroom, the cavernous, airy halls echoing under my steps, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to her—Isabella.
I tried not to think about her, but she kept slipping through the cracks of my discipline. The curve of her lips. The sharpness in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Damn it! She drives me crazy!
However, it was pointless to torment myself now. Soon enough, she’d be mine—bound by contract, if nothing else.
The only question was whether she would come willingly into my arms or stiffen like a board every time I touched her.
Her indifference was both a turn-off and a relief. Jenna had been eager—desperate, even. Isabella, on the other hand, barely seemed to register my existence after she lost her job, convinced it was my fault.
The woman confuses me.
At first, she had been so smitten, looking at me like I hung the stars. Now, she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me.
What the hell is even up with her? And why the hell did she want to hang on to that old-ass truck when I could get her any car she wanted?
I wasn’t sure which was worse: Isabella’s coldness now or Jenna’s unbearable eagerness back then.
Either way, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t marrying her for love.
I had already moved on from Jenna—the hurt, the betrayal, the disappointment—it all faded the moment I realized she wasn’t worth any more of my energy.
When she kept calling and texting after our split, I blocked her. Simple. Done.
With Isabella, I hoped it would be simple too, but the fact that I could not shake off the familiarity with her or the need to dominate her, to have her, to command her just made things more complicated for me—and not in a good way.
Fuck.