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"It didn't mean anything." Her green eyes are shards of glass, cold and sharp. "I got caught up in the moment, but we want different things, Stefano. We're from two different worlds."
I shake my head, grasping for words that might break through the wall she's erected between us. But she's already walking away, her heels echoing down the empty pathway.
I stand alone, my hands curled into fists. She's wrong. What we have can't be dismissed so easily.
This is only the beginning.
I pace the floor of my office, unable to focus. Isabella's words play on a loop in my mind.
“It didn't mean anything.
We want different things.
We're from two different worlds.“
Bullshit. She felt the connection between us too, I know she did. There's no way to fake that kind of passion. That kind of fire.
My hands clench at my sides. I should never have let her walk away like that. I should have fought for her, made her see reason. Instead, I just stood there on the sidewalk, stunned into silence as she retreated down the path and into my cottage.
And I? I stationed guards outside her door and ran toward the mafioso to see if they needed me for something.
Coward.
I slam a fist into the wall, pain exploding across my knuckles. Anger wars with desperation inside me, tangled up so tightly I can't tell them apart.
How could she do this? How could she make me care for her, make me believe we were building something real together, only to rip it all away?
I think of the softness in her eyes when she looked at me, the sweetness of her kiss, the warmth of her body curled against mine.
It couldn't have all been lies, for if those were lies, then someone better hand her a fucking Oscar. There's something on her mind she's not telling me.
My chest aches as if my heart has been carved out while still beating. I never should have trusted her. I should have known better than to fall for a woman like Isabella Torres.
But even now, all I want is to see her again. To touch her, hold her, make her take back the hateful words she threw at me. I want to lose myself in her embrace again.
I slam my fist into the wall once more, welcoming the pain. Anything to distract from the torment inside. From the truth I don't want to face.
I'm in love with her. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
When I get home in the early afternoon for a quick bite, I find Isabella in her room, curled up on the window seat with a book. Like nothing has changed. Like she didn't rip my heart out just hours ago.
Anger flares hot inside me and I stride across the room, pulling the book out of her hands. "We're not done talking about this. Why have you been acting so cold and distant since this morning? Last night you told me you loved me – in the elevator – and now you can't even tell me what changed?"
She jerks away from my touch, green eyes flashing. "Because there's nothing to say."
"You can't just do this, Isabella. You can't make me care about you and then push me away."
"I never asked you to care," she spits.
The words hit me like a slap and I step back, stunned. She's right, she never asked for my heart. She never promised me hers. I was a fool to assume otherwise.
"Just leave me alone, Stefano," she says wearily. "Go back to your life and forget about me."
I stare at her, this woman who has turned my world upside down. And I know then, with a certainty that steals my breath, that I will never be able to forget her.
She has my heart, whether she wants it or not. And I'm not giving up on her. Not yet.
"I won't give up on you," I say softly.
