Chapter 6
1692 Words
ISABELLA
I woke in a room that didn’t belong to me anymore. My childhood bedroom looked exactly as I’d left it ten years ago — the same pale walls, the same bookshelf with its uneven rows, the same window that once felt like a portal to a world I wasn’t allowed to touch. But the girl who slept here was gone. She’d been carved down, rebuilt, sharpened. The bed felt too soft. The air too still. The silence too familiar.
The ring on my finger glinted in the morning light, a cold reminder of the night not too long ago. I sat up slowly, letting the weight of everything settle into my bones. The engagement. The performance. Adrian’s silence. My fury. The way he’d looked at me like he was memorizing the shape of my anger.
I needed out. I dressed quickly, pulling on clothes that felt like armor, and slipped out before anyone could summon me for another round of Romano theatrics. The house hummed with movement — staff preparing breakfast, my father’s voice echoing from his office, Sophia’s laughter drifting faintly from the kitchen. I didn’t stop to greet anyone. I walked straight out the front door.
The cold morning air hit me like a slap. Good. I needed something real. I flagged a cab at the end of the driveway.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“The Met,” I said. “Please.”
He nodded, and the city swallowed me whole.
The museum rose like a promise — stone and glass and quiet power. My sanctuary. My escape. My proof that I could build something without the Romano name. Inside, the air smelled like varnish and old paper and possibility. Staff greeted me with warmth that felt like sunlight after a long winter.
“Welcome, Isabella.”
“Good to see you.”
I smiled, small but real. Here, I wasn’t a bargaining chip. I wasn’t a daughter of a house. I wasn’t a bride-to-be. I was a curator. I walked through the galleries, letting the art steady me. Paintings I’d fought to acquire. Sculptures I’d restored. Exhibits I’d designed with hands that once trembled from fear but now trembled from something else entirely.
My phone buzzed. Daniel. I hesitated, then answered.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm, familiar, grounding. “I’m on break. Thought I’d check in.”
I exhaled. “Hi.”
“You sound… off.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
A small, humorless smile tugged at my mouth. “You always did hate when I did that.”
“I still do,” he said gently. “Listen — I’m finishing my last shift tonight. I’ll be back in New York in a few days. We can grab coffee. Or dinner. Or just talk. Whatever you need.”
My throat tightened. “That sounds nice.”
“Isabella,” he said softly, “are you safe?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
The question hit harder than it should have. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
He exhaled, frustrated but trying not to show it. “I’ll be there soon. Just… hold on, okay? Try not to argue with your family.”
“Okay.”
We hung up, and I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me. Then I turned — and collided with a wall of heat and muscle. Hands caught my waist. I froze. Adrian. He steadied me before I could pull away, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid I’d shatter.
“You shouldn’t walk without looking,” he said, voice low.
“What are you even doing here?” I shot back.
His jaw tightened. “I had business.”
“Here?”
His eyes flicked over my face, searching for something. “You left the house without protection.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“You do.”
“I don't. What I need is space."
His fingers flexed at my waist before he released me. The loss of contact felt like a drop in temperature.
“You can’t disappear just like that,” he said quietly.
“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission. And how did you even know I left—”
“I know everything,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "You're not safe."
“From what?”
He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. Before I could push further, a smooth voice cut in.
“There you are.”
I turned. A man approached — early thirties, dark hair, tailored suit, smile warm enough to be disarming. His eyes, though, were sharp. Too sharp.
“Isabella,” he said, extending a hand. “Lorenzo Salvatore. But everyone calls me Enzo.”
I didn’t take his hand. Adrian’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted.
“Enzo is filling in,” Adrian said. “Tobias is out of town.”
Filling in. Shadowing me. My stomach twisted.
Enzo smiled, unbothered. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe. Nothing more.”
I didn’t believe that for a second.
“Enjoy your day,” he added, stepping back with a polite nod. “I’ll be nearby.”
I walked away before either of them could say anything else, my pulse pounding. I buried myself in work for the next few hours — reviewing proposals, answering emails, meeting with a curator about an upcoming exhibit. By late afternoon, I needed air again. I stepped outside into the courtyard, letting the cold wind clear my head.
That’s when I heard it. Two managers talking near the loading dock, voices low but not low enough.
“—the acquisition went through last month.”
“Anonymous buyer?”
“Yeah. Shell corporation. No name attached.”
“Strange. Who buys a museum and doesn’t want credit?”
“Someone very powerful for sure."
My heart stuttered. Very powerful? Well, whoever it is, I just have to work harder. The last thing I want is to lose this job. I didn’t wait to hear more so I left.
I didn’t remember the cab ride. I didn’t remember the elevator. I didn’t remember unlocking the door to the penthouse my father insisted I use until the wedding. No doubt my things were moved here since I left the house. I only remembered the moment I walked inside and saw him. Adrian. Standing in the living room, jacket off, sleeves rolled, hands braced on the back of a chair like he’d been waiting for hours.
His eyes lifted to mine. “You left without telling anyone,” he said.
“I don’t owe you updates.”
“You do when your safety is at risk.”
“My safety is fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you do?” I snapped. “Because you sent Enzo to follow me?”
His jaw tightened. “It is necessary."
“You trust him?”
“Yes.”
The word hit like a blow.
“I don’t want him near me.”
“He’s there to protect you.”
“I don't need it, I told you."
Silence crackled between us.
“You’re angry,” he said quietly.
“I’m furious.”
“Because I care if you live?”
“Because you act like you own me.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered — frustration, maybe. Or something darker.
“You talked to Daniel today.”
My breath caught. “How do you—”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
The admission chilled me.
“He’s not a threat,” I said.
“He’s your ex-boyfriend.”
“Funny, I don’t remember breaking up with him.”
“And you say he’s not a threat?” Adrian smirked. “You’re engaged to me. Have you forgotten already?”
“How could I forget? I am my family’s payment to their debt to you.”
Adrian looked frustrated, and yet he remained cold. “End things with him.”
“He’s my friend.”
“He wants more.”
“And what if he does?” I demanded. “What if I want more?”
His stillness shattered. He crossed the room in three strides, stopping inches from me, his presence overwhelming.
“You are mine,” he said softly, dangerously. “Not because of a contract. Not because of your father. Because you were mine long before any of this.”
My pulse thundered.
“I’m not yours,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “You were. You are. You will be.”
I shoved him back. He let me. That scared me more than anything.
“I’m going to my room,” I said.
"Isabella—"
I walked away before he could talk more, heart pounding, vision blurring. I reached the hallway—
—and froze. A man stood at the end of it. Not Adrian. Not staff. A shadow. Watching me. Waiting.
“Hello, Isabella,” he said.
My blood turned to ice and I closed my eyes. I knew that voice. I hadn’t heard it in ten years. Marco.
I froze and my heart started to beat faster. “Isabella, are you okay?”
I opened my eyes and the man in front of me was Enzo. His voice was different.
“You look pale. Are you not feeling well?”
“W-Where was he—“
“Who?”
“There was someone… he spoke my name and—“ My throat felt so dry I don’t know how to finish my sentence without choking.
Enzo scanned the room and saw no one.
“It’s just us. I haven’t seen anyone yet.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jeez, you’re trembling. Let’s take you back to the living room and I’ll get you a glass of water.” He offered.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll just— I’ll be in my room and I want to be alone. I don’t need water. Thank you though.”
- Writer
