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A rueful laugh escapes Victor as he shakes his head.
"Should've known Julian would want something out of it," he says, though the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hefts the box with a grunt. "I'm on it."
As Victor's form disappears through the doorway of my office, a silent acknowledgment hangs in the air. This is the dance of power we know all too well, a waltz of favors and debts in the shadows of our reality.
The quiet of the hallway feels stifling as I make my way from my office to where Isabella is sleeping. I reach the door with my hand pausing on the cool metal of the knob before pushing it open. The room is dimly lit, with the only light seeping in through the curtains. Shades of twilight caress the room in gentle blues and grays.
There, she lies. Isabella, her still form on the bed, is a portrait of vulnerability. She hasn't moved since Jacob, with his reckless concern, broke every speed limit to bring her here this morning. Now, her chest rises and falls with a rhythm that speaks of deep slumber, unaware of the chaos her presence has stoked in my world.
I reach out, my hand lightly tracing the contour of her cheek, and her eyelids flutter as if my touch is a whisper calling her back to consciousness. The barest smile begins to bloom across her face, a sweet, instinctual response that seems to draw on the warmth of dreams. Then, reality crashes in like a wave, washing away the remnants of sleep as she takes in my presence and the room that is not her own. The smile vanishes, and her body tenses.
With a sudden shift, she rolls away from me and onto her feet with the sheets discarded in a fluid, almost defensive motion. She stands there with a hard gaze, and her posture is coiled with anger. In an instant, Isabella has morphed from a slumbering innocence to a force of raw, unfiltered fury, staring me down as if my very existence has become an affront to her.
"Where am I," she asks.
"You're in my home," I reply, meeting her gaze with an even one of my own. "I had a guard bring you here for your safety."
"Jacob," she breathes out with her eyes widening in shock at making the connection. I only nod, confirming her realization that Jacob, the man she trusted, works for me.
"I've been keeping an eye on you," I confess, watching as her expression turns to one of anger and betrayal.
"Because you didn't believe me," she snarls. "You thought I was hiding something. That I knew something about this mess."
I don't deny it, as I keep my face as stoic as the walls around us. "At first, yes, that was the reason. But then... then I just wanted to keep you safe. Something is not right about this situation."
She screams, a raw sound of frustration and fear. "I have nothing to do with any of this!"
"The fact that you were attacked means you do," I counter firmly, unwilling to sugarcoat the gravity of her predicament.
Isabella's shoulders slump as defeat momentarily dims the fire in her eyes. "The intruder... he kept asking about money," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "Whoevertheyare, said I would give it to them. I have no idea what they're talking about," she says, her voice a mixture of desperation and resignation. "I don't have any money..."
"They think you have money, Isabella. That's why they're after you," I say, keeping my voice level despite the frustration building within me. Her safety hangs by a thread, and it's hard not to let the urgency of the situation bleed through.
Isabella's eyes flash, and she stops pacing to face me. "My father... that asshole gambled away everything we had." Her voice crackles with a cocktail of rage and vulnerability. The painful admission has all the sharp edges of shattered glass.
I study her for a moment, choosing my words carefully as the room is heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.
"Someone out there has been led to believe differently. They're convinced you're sitting on a fortune." I pause, watching as realization takes shape in her gaze. "Since your father is missing, they're turning to you."
She starts pacing again like a caged animal, looking for an escape from an invisible trap. "I'm so sick of cleaning up his messes," she mumbles, the words fraught with weariness. "Why does this always happen to me? Why does he always drag me into his shit..." Her voice trails off into a hollow whisper.
I watch her determination take shape with each step she takes towards the door. Her voice is steady, with a newfound resolve that perforates the charged air between us.
"I'm getting out of here," she says with her hand reaching for the doorknob. "I'll just go somewhere else. I want to be as far away from you all as possible."
Her declaration echoes in the room, a clear testament to her will to escape the twisted play of events she's been forced into as a pawn on a chessboard she never agreed to play on. As she grasps the handle and turns it with a decisive click, I find myself at an impasse, torn between the need to protect her and letting her go.
She may have started off as the enemy, but she isn't any longer. I still burn with the need to find my brother's killer regardless of his betrayal. The people he tangled himself with are now after Isabella. I can never leave her now. Especially not after the night of passion we shared. I used to hate Isabella and what I thought she represented. When I thought she killed my brother, I wanted her to pay. Now that I know the kind of woman she is, I can't help the need to protect her. Her innocence calls to me.
Isabella Blackhart is mine.
Mine to protect.
Mine to keep.
It's time she realizes it.
19
