(Isabella’s POV)
The world stopped. The quiet, polite sounds of the auction—the smooth voice of the auctioneer, the soft rustle of paper, the distant city traffic—all faded away into a deafening roar in my ears. My world, which I had so carefully started to rebuild, tilted on its axis and then shattered into a million pieces.
It was Marco.
He was standing just a few rows in front of me, looking not at the priceless art on the walls, but directly at me. He was not a ghost. He was real, solid, and breathing. He was older, his face lined with a sadness I did not recognize, but it was him. The man who had taught me how to ride a bike. The man who had snuck me sweets when my father wasn't looking. The man who had been my father’s head of security, his most trusted friend. The man who was sup
