Chapter 4 4

Isabella POV

The phantom heat of Damon's touch still burned against my skin as Gina helped me dress for my classes at Trinity College. Needing to clear the lingering madness of my dream, I stepped out into the estate's Rose Garden. The morning air was crisp, heavy with the sweet, suffocating scent of blooming roses. Yet, the marble paths beneath my shoes felt like ice, and the thorns on the stems were a sharp reminder of the reality I lived in.

"Are you happy now, Isabella?"

I stopped. Grayson stormed down the path, his usually perfectly styled hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like a cornered animal.

"Grayson," I said, keeping my voice soft, though my pulse steadied into a cold rhythm. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play dumb!" He closed the distance between us, his face twisting with ugly resentment. "Clara is locked in her apartment. My grandmother cut off her allowance and threatened her life. All because you couldn't just keep your mouth shut and accept how things work!"

Before I could respond, Gina stepped in front of me, her chin raised in defiance. "How dare you speak to Miss Rossi this way? You publicly humiliated her, paraded a showgirl in front of the entire New York syndicate, and you have the nerve to blame her?"

"Shut up, you stupid maid," Grayson spat.

I gently pulled Gina back, forcing tears to well in my eyes. I let my lower lip tremble, playing the exact role he expected. "Does my dignity mean nothing to you, Grayson? I am your betrothed. I only wanted to protect our family's honor."

"Honor?" Grayson sneered, stepping so close I could smell the stale whiskey on his breath. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging brutally into my fragile skin.

I gasped, genuine pain flaring up my arm.

"You will go to my grandmother today," he hissed, shaking my arm slightly. "You will apologize. You will tell her you overreacted and beg her to lift the restrictions on Clara. If you don't, Isabella, I swear I will make your life a living hell."

He shoved my hand away as if touching me disgusted him, turning on his heel and storming back toward the manor.

I stood frozen, rubbing my throbbing wrist. But it wasn't Grayson's threat that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

A sudden, suffocating weight dropped over the garden. The temperature seemed to plummet. I slowly turned my head toward the edge of the garden. Behind a row of towering, gloomy Italian cypresses, two tall silhouettes stood perfectly still. One was Aldo, the Underboss.

The other was Damon.

Even from this distance, hidden in the shadows, the sheer force of his presence was paralyzing. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel them. The predatory, Siberian coldness radiating from the trees was identical to the dark, obsessive madness in my dream. He had seen Grayson touch me. He had seen everything.

A shiver violently wrecked through my spine. I quickly turned away, hurrying toward the driveway with Gina close behind.

The heavy, armored door of the black Cadillac V-16 shut with a solid thud, sealing us in a soundproof vault of leather and mahogany.

The moment the car pulled away from the estate, the tears vanished from my eyes. The trembling stopped. I leaned back against the plush leather, my expression hardening into something cold and unrecognizable.

"Miss Isabella..." Gina whispered, looking at my bruised wrist with tearful eyes. "We have to tell the Don. He will kill him for touching you."

"No," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion. "Damon Falcone only cares about his family's name. I am just collateral."

"But you can't let him treat you like this! You're heartbroken!"

I looked at Gina, a bitter, humorless smile touching my lips. "I'm not heartbroken, Gina. I feel absolutely nothing for that boy but disgust."

Gina blinked, stunned by the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Waiting for Henrietta to protect me isn't enough anymore," I murmured, staring out the tinted window at the passing city. "If I break the betrothal, I lose my shield. Grayson has to be the one to destroy it. Publicly. Irrevocably."

"How?"

"By becoming his worst nightmare," I said, the plan crystallizing in my mind like sharp glass. "I will become the perfect, suffocating fiancée. I will obsess over his studies. I will buy us tickets to the longest, most tedious classical music concerts he despises. I will corner him in front of his friends and talk endlessly about our 'artistic' future together."

I turned to look at my loyal maid, my eyes cold and clear. "I am going to wrap myself around his neck like a perfect silk tie, and I will pull until he suffocates. I will push him until he loses his mind and commits a sin not even Henrietta can forgive."

The Cadillac glided toward the wrought-iron gates of Trinity College, carrying me toward the vipers' nest.