Chapter 8: A Hard Choice
1671 Words
Isabella's POV
My luxurious car rolls to a stop in front of a narrow apartment complex and I glance up at the dim windows with my reflection flickering faintly against the glass. So this is where Aria’s boyfriend lives.
My driver steps out first and opens the door for me. I smooth down my coat, lift my chin and step out. Every click of my heels on the pavement feels deliberate and controlled. My men follow closely behind with their presence silent.
The hallway leading to Walters’ apartment is narrow and smells faintly of dust and reheated noodles. Typical poor people… I stop at his door and knock twice.
It takes a while before the lock clicks and the door creaks open.
A man in his late twenties blinks at me. His hair is messy, his shirt half-buttoned and a guitar strap hangs loosely around his shoulder. There’s confusion in his eyes...cautious confusion.
“Uh… can I help you?” he asks with his voice hesitant, like someone who doesn’t get unexpected guests.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Mr. Walters?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to speak with you. May I come in?”
He hesitates, and his eyes flicker to the two men behind me, then back to my face. There’s a moment of silence before he sighs and steps aside.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. Come in.”
The apartment is small but cozy, cluttered with music sheets, open notebooks and two guitars leaning against a couch that’s seen better days and a keyboard sits by the window.
My eyes trail over everything, taking it in. It’s exactly the kind of space someone like Aria would have liked...warm, unpolished and really disgusting. The thought makes my jaw tighten.
“Sorry, the place is kind of a mess,” Walters says, running a hand through his hair. “So… who are you exactly?”
I walk deeper into the room, ignoring the question for a moment as I look at the pictures pinned to the wall. Aria is in one of them, smiling and my chest burns for half a second, but I keep my face smooth.
“I know your girlfriend,” I say finally, turning to face him.
He frowns.
“Aria?”
“Yes. Aria.” I fold my arms. “She’s… an interesting woman.”
His confusion deepens.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say slowly, “she has eyes on someone she shouldn’t.”
He blinks.
“I’m sorry...what are you talking about?”
“Dante Marino,” I say, watching his reaction carefully.
There’s a short silence and he looks completely thrown.
“The billionaire guy? Dante?”
“Yes.”
He laughs though it sounds forced.
“That’s impossible. Aria’s not...she wouldn’t…”
“Oh, she would.” My tone stays calm. “She’s been spending time with him. Close time. Maybe you haven’t noticed yet but she’s changing.”
His expression darkens with a crease forming between his brows.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I ask softly, stepping closer. “She’s getting comfortable around him. Smiling too much, talking too much. I’ve seen it. I’m telling you because I think you deserve to know.”
He stares at me, conflicted with a doubt building in his eyes.
“Why are you even telling me this? What do you get out of it?”
I study him for a moment and his voice trembles slightly, but he’s trying to act strong. I almost admire that.
“Because,” I say, “you love her, don’t you?”
He hesitates and then nods slowly.
“Yeah. I do. Of course, I do.”
“Good.” I smile faintly, but there’s no warmth in it. “Then we both want the same thing.”
He frowns.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aria shouldn’t be close to Dante,” I say simply. “She doesn’t belong in his world. And I don’t intend to let her ruin mine.”
There’s a silence between us and Walters looks like he’s trying to read me and to understand what kind of person would come to his doorstep with that kind of statement.
I let the silence stretch before adding, “I have a plan. If you’re interested.”
He crosses his arms.
“I’m listening.”
A slow smirk curls my lips.
“Good.”
I take one last glance around the apartment over the instruments, the scattered dreams and the faint trace of Aria everywhere...and then meet his eyes.
“We both want the same thing so listen carefully…”
***
Dante’s POV
The Marino Mansion looks exactly the same every weekend… quiet, grand and suffocating in its silence.
I park my car in the driveway, step out and glance up at the tall columns that guard the front doors like soldiers. My family’s crest glints faintly above the entrance as a reminder of what I’m expected to protect, uphold and someday inherit.
I take a breath, square my shoulders and step inside.
The grand living room is dimly lit with the remnants of sunlight through tall curtains. My father sits alone in his favorite chair reading a newspaper with glasses perched low on his nose.
“Father,” I greet, keeping my tone neutral.
He looks up immediately with a rare smile tugging at his lips.
“Dante. You’re early today.”
“Traffic was light.”
He sets the paper aside and gestures for me to sit.
“Where’s everyone?” I ask, glancing around the empty room.
“They all went out, but they’ll be back before dinner,” he says, leaning back. “You know how they are on weekends.”
I nod and take a seat across from him.
“How’s work?” he asks.
“The usual,” I reply. “Meetings, numbers and clients who think they know more than they do.”
He chuckles softly.
“You sound just like me at your age.”
“Maybe I am,” I say with a faint smirk.
But the warmth fades quickly when he folds his arms and gives me that look...the one that usually comes before a conversation I won’t like.
“I heard something interesting,” he says casually.
“Oh?”
“I heard you didn’t sign the Lawson deal.”
I exhale slowly.
“Word travels fast.”
“Of course it does,” he says with his voice suddenly sharper. “It’s a billion-dollar partnership, Dante. Every major investor was watching that move.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you refuse?”
I meet his gaze.
“Because their terms were ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” His brows lift. “All they asked was that you be married. It’s standard in some circles. They want stability...someone who won’t risk everything for pleasure or impulse, and you turned it down?”
My jaw tightens.
“I’m not going to get married just to please a board of directors.”
His eyes harden.
“You’re not a boy anymore. You’re a Marino. Every move you make affects this family.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” He leans forward slightly. “Because from where I stand it looks like you’re throwing away opportunities out of pride.”
I clench my fists against my knees, trying to stay calm.
“I’m not ready for that phase of my life yet. I don’t even have time for it.
He sighs, shaking his head.
“You’ve had time for everything else. For traveling, for building and for chasing projects. You have time to manage empires but not a marriage?”
“It’s not about time,” I snap. “It’s about choice.”
His expression changes...less disappointed now and more calculating.
“Listen to me, Dante,” he says quietly. “If you don’t marry soon...and secure that deal...things will change.”
I look up sharply.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says with finality, “if you can’t carry your weight as the heir of this family, I’ll have no choice but to name someone else as first son.”
I stare at him with disbelief, turning quickly to anger.
“You’re threatening to disown me?”
“I’m giving you a deadline,” he corrects. “You have until the end of this quarter to turn that situation around. Otherwise, the inheritance and the business...everything...goes to your cousin.”
A sharp laugh escapes me, but there’s no humor in it.
“You’d really do that?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, but his silence says everything.
I stand abruptly.
“Unbelievable.”
“Sit down,” he says sternly.
“No.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I’ve given everything to this family, Father. Every late night, every sacrifice and now you’re saying I’m not enough because I don’t have a wife?”
“You’re not enough because you’re incomplete,” he replies coldly. “A man who cannot build a home cannot lead one.”
The words hit deep and colder than they should. For a moment I just stand there with jaw tight staring at the man who raised me...the man who’s never once asked if I was happy, only if I was successful.
“I’m done talking,” I say finally, turning toward the door.
“Dante.”
I stop with my back still to him.
“Don’t make me regret my decision,” he warns.
I walk out without replying. Outside, I slide into my car, grip the steering wheel, and let out a long and shaky breath.
My heart is still pounding and my father’s words echo in my head like a verdict. Marry or lose everything.
I close my eyes for a second, pressing my palms against the wheel and then slowly, an idea...reckless, impossible and dangerous...creeps into my mind…
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