His Brother's Bride

Chapter seven

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my good friend, Isla Ravenwood.”

Isla's spine stiffened instantly but she didn’t need to turn around to recognize that syrupy, venom-laced voice.

Victoria Holloway.

Isla took a breath, slow and deep, before spinning around with a small, practiced smile tugging at her lips. “Vix. You’re here.”

Victoria looked breathtaking, as always—glossy hair cascading down her back, sharp eyes flickering with cruel amusement. Her gown was clinging to her like second skin, blood-red and screaming for attention. Typical.

She gave Isla a once-over, her lips curling. “You look... refreshed. Rumor had it you were hiding in your room, nursing cold feet. But I guess that’s not the full story, is it?”

Isla's smile didn’t waver. “Rumors bore you, Vix. I’d think you’d be chasing something more... entertaining.”

“Oh, but you are entertaining, Isla,” she said, stepping closer, her perfume nauseatingly sweet. “Engaged to the most eligible man in the city, and yet you disappear during your own celebration. Scandalous, don't you think?”

Isla crossed her arms, letting the fabric of her dress stretch slightly. “You’ve always had a flair for theatrics. You should consider a career.”

She chuckled darkly, her head tilting slightly to the side. “And you’ve always been good at playing quiet. Submissive. That damsel routine must work wonders on Adrian.”

Her words hit harder than they should have, and Isla felt her heart squeeze.

Victoria smiled, small and narrow. “Tell me, Isla... do you love him?”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and pointed. But Isla couldn't even open her mouth to answer.

Because how was she supposed to answer that question?

Then Victoria smirked, stepping back with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “Didn’t think so.”

Isla clenched her fists and watched as Victoria turned and glided down the hallway, her heels clicking like gunshots on the marble floor.

The air was thick with everything she didn’t say. Everything she couldn’t.

Before she could fully collect herself, she felt a hand wrap around her forearm.

Gasping, Isla turned—too fast—and met Adrian’s dark eyes.

And he didn’t look pleased.

“Where have you been?” His voice was low, deceptively calm.

Isla swallowed, pulling back slightly, but his grip only tightened.

“Walking,” she replied. “I needed air.”

He stared at her, his gaze unblinking. “This estate isn't a playground, Isla. Wandering off... it’s unwise.”

She frowned. “Why? Afraid I’ll trip over something I shouldn’t see?”

His expression flickered—just for a second—before settling into cold neutrality. “The estate changes people. It twists things. Makes you question what’s real and what isn’t.”

Isla just stared at him, unsure if he was warning her or threatening her.

Snippets of the conversation between him and Cassian a few minutes ago flashed through her mind, but she forced it down somewhere deep inside her..

He finally let go of her arm slowly. “Be careful who you trust.”

Before Isla could ask what the hell he meant, voices echoed down the hallway.

“The governor’s arrived,” Adrian said without looking back. “Smile, Isla. You’re the future of the Calloways, remember?”

The reception hall was grand, overflowing with power and politics. Champagne glasses clinked, cameras flashed, and every smile was laced with hidden agendas.

Adrian stood at the center like a polished statue—perfect posture, perfect lies. He greeted the governor with the confidence of someone used to controlling a room.

But Isla saw the tension in his jaw. The way his fingers twitched every time someone brought up the impending merger. There were talks of new regulations, whispers of investigations, and veiled threats disguised as toasts.

Adrian was being cornered. Slowly. Publicly.

And yet... his eyes never softened. Not once.

Isla stood beside him through all this, hands clasped in front of her, wearing the role she was born into. The silent bride-to-be.

But across the room, in the shadows near the old piano, was Cassian.

Leaning casually against the wall, drink in hand, eyes locked on isla's like he could see right through the mask.

He looked... amused. And maybe a little broken.

Their eyes met and held for a second, and then he raised his glass to her, like a silent dare.

Isla felt a chill sweep through her as she swallowed hard.

Because for a moment—she forgot Adrian existed and that he was standing right next to her.

Before she could move or look away, the governor’s voice rang out, sounding closer to them. “Of course, we were saddened to hear about Lucian Freud’s death. A tragedy, really.”

Isla frowned and then looked up, gazing at the fifty something old man who is standing in front of them.

Lucian?

Who was Lucian?

Adrian stiffened beside her, but he didn't flinch neither did he show any overt emotion that showed he knew who the governor was talking about.

The governor smiled tightly. “But I’m sure his... shadow won’t linger long. The Freud legacy is in good hands.”

Adrian’s grip on Isla's waist tightened.

“Yes, of course,” he replied vaguely as though he was painfully aware that Isla was still standing beside them.

Obviously, this was something he didn't want to discuss with her present.

Isla took a small, discreet peek at her fiancè as intense thoughts invaded her mind.

The corner of Adrian's lips upturned into a small smile before he glanced down at Isla. “Sweetheart, could you excuse us for some minutes,” he said, his tone sugary. “I have something important I have to discuss with the governor.”

Isla returned his sharp, piercing look before a soft smile graced her own lips. “Of course, dear,” she replied and stepped away from his arms. “Do well to come find me if you finish.”

She genuflected gracefully before the governor, and grabbing the helm of her evening gown, she retreated to a small corner which was a few steps away from her husband to be.

But as she turned and watched her fiancè huddling closer to the governor and whispering, she couldn't help but wonder...

What on earth was Adrian hiding?