CHAPTER FOUR
762 Words
CHAPTER FOUR — THE CONTRACT BRIDE
The succeeding days were like a dream from which Isabella couldn't wake up. Or rather, a storm she couldn't outrun.
Leonardo's proposition-a marriage of convenience-lingered in her mind. When she shut her eyes, it was his face that stared back: controlled, commanding, but with something dangerously human flickering in its depths.
She tried to ignore him; she even avoided work for some days, feigning illness. But he found her anyway.
A sleek black car appeared outside her small apartment on a rainy afternoon.
She opened the door to find Leonardo standing there, immaculately dressed, with raindrops glittering on his dark hair. “You didn’t answer my calls.”
"I had nothing to say."
“You had everything to say,” he replied. “You're just afraid to admit it.”
Her hands were trembling. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
"Because I can't stop thinking about you."
He spoke it plainly, without pride, only fact. That was what scared her most.
Which one, in your opinion, do you think is more important to employers?
They sat inside his car, the city blurring past the window, the hum of the engine filling the silence.
“I’m offering you a way out,” he said finally. “Your landlord’s threatening eviction. Your visa expires soon. I can help.”
Her head snapped toward him. “You've been digging into my life?”
"I protect what I want."
"What makes you think I'd say yes?"
"Because you're desperate," he said softly, "and because, somewhere deep down, you want to trust me."
The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Isabella didn't deny them.
Three days later, she stood before a gilded mirror in a silk ivory gown that wasn't hers.
The ceremony was private,just signatures, witnesses, and silence. No vows. No flowers. No love.
At least, so she kept telling herself,
“Contessa Sofia D'Amato, Leonardo's mother from Milan, had come with sharp eyes and colder grace. "So, this is the girl?" she said, circling Isabella like a hawk.
“She’s my wife,” Leonardo asserted decisively.
The Contessa's lips curved. "Wife in name or in heart?"
Leonardo's jaw tensed. "That's none of your concern."
But Isabella saw the flicker of something—regret?—in his gaze.
That night, as the limousine took them to his penthouse, the city lights shimmered like stars scattered below.
"This is temporary," she whispered, as he poured champagne.
“Of course,” he said, though his eyes told another story. “Six months. After that, you’re free.”
She glanced around at the glass walls, the art, the space that went on and on. What she felt wasn't freedom-it was possession.
Leonardo walked closer, and the air between them shifted. “You’ll attend dinners with me, smile for the cameras, and live as Mrs. D’Amato. But behind closed doors…” He stopped, his voice low and promising. “…nobody dictates the terms but you."
Her heart stumbled. “You mean,this marriage won’t be”
He smiled faintly. "Consummate? Only if you choose it."
Unexpectedly. A gentleman's restraint from a man exuding control. And somehow, that made him even more dangerous.
Isabella did not sleep that night. She stood at her window in her silk robe and watched rain slide down the glass.
Leonardo entered quietly, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up.
“Do you regret it already?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He moved beside her, close enough for his warmth to reach her. “Then don’t think. Just… feel.”
Her breath caught.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. The silence between them was more intimate than any touch could be.
By morning, the world knew.
"LEONARDO D'AMATO SECRETLY MARRIED" blared across tabloids and social media.
His ex-fiancée Bianca posted a picture of her in Rome and wrote that men like him never change.
The damage was done, but Isabella did notice how Leonardo didn't even flinch. He just scrolled past the headlines and then turned to her.
“You’ll see the truth soon enough,” he said.
"What truth?" she asked.
“That not all power is poison.”
At a gala thrown in their honor that night, sapphire-garbed Isabella walked beside him. Cameras flashed; murmurs rippled. She felt the weight of judgment from every direction ,until Leonardo’s hand brushed hers beneath the table. It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible.
Still, to Isabella, it spoke volumes: You're not alone. And for the first time, she believed him.
- Writer
