Chapter.2
1165 Words
The elongated Lincoln, like a black ghost, glided through the Upper West Side of New York, finally stopping in front of a low-key, luxurious townhouse. Isabella took a deep breath, but her palms were still sweating. The driver got out of the car and opened the door for her, with a standard "please" hand gesture, like a slow-motion scene from a movie.
The large villa gate slowly opened, and Isabelle hesitated for a moment, but still put her finger on the fingerprint lock.
"Welcome, Vivian."
The electronic music is sickeningly sweet, but Isabelle's heart feels as if it has been struck by something. Vivian? This name is like a thorn, piercing her painfully. She struggles to suppress the awkwardness within her, and forcibly walks in.
The huge walk-in closet that came into view had row after row of Chanel suits hanging neatly, like soldiers awaiting inspection. The classic black and white color scheme, the tweed fabric, the delicate camellia brooches... Each one seemed to have been custom-made for her measurements. Isabella couldn't resist reaching out and gently stroking the soft fabric, a slight shiver running through her fingertips. The texture was so delicate, it was almost unbelievable.
"This... this is all..." She stammered, not knowing what to say. This is quite a scene!
She walked slowly, her eyes barely enough. This is not a dressing room, but a Chanel museum! She even saw a few limited editions, which are rare to see in magazines.
The huge dressing table beside it is covered with all kinds of bottles and jars, La Mer, Sisley... Isabella usually doesn't even dare to buy samples, but now they're piled up there as if they were free.
A French poetry collection opened up and caught her attention. Next to the poetry collection, there was a faded ballet ticket stub, the date of which was no longer legible. Isabella carefully picked up the poetry collection, and on the page it was opened, a dried up rose petal was tucked inside.
She gently plucked the flower petal, which had completely lost its moisture, yet still seemed to retain a faint, elusive fragrance, carrying the scent of time and inviting one to explore the story behind it.
This room... everywhere is permeated with the shadow of another woman. That woman is called Vivian.
Isabella felt like an intruder who had wandered into someone else's territory, a bit awkward and a bit uneasy.
"Ding-dong "the smart home system suddenly rang, and Debussy's 'Moonlight' flowed down like a waterfall, the melody was gentle, but with a touch of sadness. A butler with half-white hair hurried over, his face full of 'Oh, this is bad': "I'm sorry, Miss Carter, this is Vivian's bedtime program, I... I forgot."
She feels like I'm an extra who accidentally wandered onto someone else's grand stage, and the worst kind at that. I'm standing in place, my toes almost digging a hole in the floor, this is truly a major public embarrassment.
The butler was frantically operating the control panel, and the music finally stopped. He rubbed his hands, trying to ease the awkwardness: "Well, Miss Carter, would you like to go and see your room? Mr. Leonardo has specifically ordered that everything be arranged according to your preferences."
My preferences? Isabella silently chuckled to herself. She hasn't even figured out what style of pajamas she likes. How would Leonardo know? Probably it's according to Vivian's preferences again.
She took a deep breath and forced a small smile: "Okay, thank you." Her voice was as soft as a mosquito's call.
Follow the butler up the spiral staircase, but Isabella couldn't help glancing around. The oil paintings on the walls had delicate brushstrokes and vivid colors, clearly the work of a master. The sculptures in the corner had smooth lines and unique forms, full of artistic flair.
These are not consistent with her.
She's like a country girl wearing an sss bestseller, who accidentally wandered into the Palace of Versailles.
She was thirsty and unconsciously walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I'm looking for something to drink.
"A lone box of Greek yogurt was placed in the most prominent position, with the label boldly stating: 'V's favorite - Do not touch!' The handwriting was ostentatious, exuding a childish sense of dominance, like a small lion staking a claim."
Isabella closed the refrigerator door with a "snap". The yogurt must have expired, so why keep it? She pursed her lips, feeling inexplicably irritated. This box of yogurt was like a silent "no entry" sign, announcing Vivian's territory, sacred and inviolable. As an outsider, she didn't even have the right to drink a sip of water? This was simply "laughable".
She turned around and took a bottle of mineral water from the bar's liquor cabinet, unscrewed the lid, and gulped down a few mouthfuls. The icy liquid slid down her throat, slightly calming the heat in her heart.
The sound of a piano drifting up from downstairs, like pearls falling onto a jade plate. Isabella was a bit sleepy before, but now she was completely awake. She followed the sound, her footsteps becoming lighter and lighter, like a curious little cat.
In the living room, Leonardo sat in front of the grand piano, his fingers moving with magical dexterity across the black and white keys. He was playing "Für Elise," and every note seemed to have a hook, gently tugging at Isabelle's heartstrings.
The warm yellow light shines on him, gilding him with a golden edge. His eyes are slightly closed, his eyelashes long and dense, like little fans. His nose is straight, like a small mountain, and his lips are thin and beautifully shaped. He is wearing a deep gray silk robe, the collar opens a bit, and the skin of his collarbone is so white it glows, the outlines of his pectoral muscles faintly visible...
Wow... Isabella couldn't help but sigh softly. She had seen a lot of handsome guys on TV before, but they all seemed like they were photoshopping, too perfect to be real. Leonardo was different, he was handsome in a... how to put it, a particularly "aggressive" way, making one want to... ahem, think too much.
She was completely captivated, completely forgetting where she was. This man was truly a work of art, shining brighter than the most prized jewels she had designed.
The sound of the piano was interrupted. Like a taut string suddenly snapping, the lingering sound trembled in the air. Leonado turned his head, and Isabelle stood at the entrance of the living room, like a small deer that had wandered into a forbidden area. His face darkened abruptly, changing as quickly as the June sky. He slammed the piano cover shut with a loud "bang," the sound like thunder, startling Isabelle.
"Who told you to come down?" he asked, his voice as cold as dropping ice shards, each word squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a chill that could freeze a person.
- Writer
