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Victor's response is a grunt, his understanding implicit without the need for further explanation. I continue with urgency threading my words together. "I need you back at my house later. Isabella and I are getting married. This is not up for debate."
A brief pause, and then his voice, tinged with sarcasm, cuts through. "Gonna make an honest woman out of her in the middle of a war zone, boss? Should I bring rice or a bulletproof vest as wedding decor?”
I can't help but let out a tense chuckle despite the seriousness of the moment.
"You're an ass," I reply, my lips curling into a reluctant smile. “Stop by the jewelers and grab rings, too,” I tell him, and before he can say anything else, I end the call. Time is a luxury I can't afford to waste. Not now.
I push the hospital doors open and step into the privacy of the cool evening air, allowing myself a moment to just breathe. This may not be the most conventional way to get married, but with Daniel securely in our clutches, I can afford to give Isabella, my soon to be wife, my undivided attention for a few days. The word 'wife' evokes a smile that surprises even me. It sounds so right, so perfectly fitting for what she's about to become in my life. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Maybe, in all of the chaos we're entrenched in, we've stumbled upon an unexpected kind of perfection.
I lean against the cold brick wall of the hospital, gazing up at the bright sky, making an unspoken vow to the sun. When all this is over, once the imminent threat that targets Isabella is quashed, I will give her the wedding she wholeheartedly deserves. An event marked by celebration, not desperation, filled with family and friends instead of guards and guns.
As fate would have it, life is a cruel and unpredictable dance, and if, by some foolish slip, I make an ass of myself, alienating the heart I yearn to protect, I know I'd go to the ends of the earth to win her back, to convince her to stay.
I stride back inside the hospital. The sterile tang of antiseptic collides with the resolve that's settled deep in my bones. I seek out the doctor with a single-minded focus with my footsteps echoing in the almost empty hallway. She's just where I expect her to be, and I don't hesitate.
"When can Isabella go home?" My question is pointed, unyielding as my gaze locks with hers.
The doctor meets my intensity with a nod, understanding the urgency without needing the gritty details of why.
"I'll get her discharge papers ready. She'll be free to go in about fifteen minutes," she says, already turning to make good on her word.
True to her promise, Isabella’s paperwork is completed with swift efficiency. Before long, I have her by my side, guiding her gently but firmly through the maze of hallways. She’s quiet and steadier on her feet than I expected. In no time at all, she's in the passenger seat of my car as we drive toward the uncertain future that awaits us.
22
CHAPTER 22
Isabella
The drive to Damien's house is like a blur. This morning, I was in the comfort of a bookstore. Now, here I am in the passenger seat next to Damien, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on a day that has pivoted into the unexpected. I’m getting married today. Again, but this time, it’s to Damien, a man whose resolution is as unyielding as the set of his jaw. He glances at me, his eyes reflecting a cocktail of determination and something softer.
A promise of not only safety but a partnership forged in the steel of necessity. I should feel overwhelmed, perhaps even frightened, but there's a certainty in the chaos, and it's rooted in the fierce protectiveness he exudes. As the scenery whisks by, a singular thought crystalizes with each passing mile. My life is changing irrevocably, and there's no one else I'd rather have by my side.
We pull up to the large, imposing house that somehow feels more like a fortress today than a home. I know the stakes are high. They loom over us like the dark clouds on the horizon threatening a storm. With an assuredness that belies the tension of the day, Damien helps me out of the car, his touch both grounding and comforting. The murmurs of voices from inside spill out as we make our way to the door. It's an odd mix of anticipation and fear that tugs at my gut. A reminder of the unexpected turn my life has taken in just a few hours.
"Damien," a voice calls out, unquestionably belonging to his mother. "We're in the sitting room. Come. Tell us what's going on."
There's an undeniable authority in her tone that sets my heart racing. Damien gives me a reassuring smile with the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that suggests more than just amusement.
"This is going to be fun," he says, though the depth in his eyes tells me it's more battle than jest. "Come on. Let's get this battle over with."
With a faint nod, I follow him, clutching the fabric of my dress as if it could somehow shield me from the impending confrontation. We reach the door of the sitting room, and Damien pauses, giving my hand a firm, purposeful squeeze.
"No matter what they say, we are getting married. They will have to come to terms with you being in my life," he asserts with a conviction that sends warmth flooding through me.
His words are a fortress in their own right, strong and unyielding, an oath to face whatever comes our way. Together.
As the sitting room door swings open, a hush falls over the vast space. Damien's mother and his sister Aurora fix their gazes on me. A look of utter shock paints their faces. The air is thick with disapproval, and it’s almost suffocating in its intensity.
Damien steps forward, his voice steady and commanding. "Mother, Aurora, thanks for coming."
The silence that follows is shattered when his mother's voice, cold as steel, slices through the tension. "So, you’ve found the whore who killed my son," she spits out, the words venomous, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Why is she here and not strung up somewhere waiting to be executed?”
Aurora stands abruptly with fire igniting in her eyes. "I'll kick her ass for daring to cross our family," she threatens as she takes a menacing step towards me.
Damien is quick to step in front of me like a shield. "Watch your tongues when speaking about Isabella," he snaps with an uncharacteristic edge to his voice, causing both women to recoil in surprise.
"What's gotten into you, Damien?" his mother demands with disbelief etched into every word. "Did she spread her legs for you too? Has she gotten in your head like Jackson?" she taunts, her words dripping with scorn.
