Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 5

Victor shot him a cold, dismissive glance.

He strode into the living room, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar, and poured himself a full glass. Lifting it to his lips, he downed it in one go. The burn of the liquor finally cut through the syrupy afterglow of the night, jolting him awake.

Finley let out a teasing click of his tongue.

"Well, look at you. Guess a satisfied man doesn't need the little help I brought, huh? Tell me, who's the woman who finally managed to pluck our untouchable prince off his pedestal?"

Finley was dying of curiosity.

After all, Victor had a reputation in the business world for being ice-cold, ruthless, and sharp as a blade. Behind closed doors, though, he was nothing like the rest of their crowd.

For Finley and his friends, blowing off steam meant sipping drinks, flirting with actresses and models, maybe splurging on a wild night if the mood struck. Victor joined in occasionally, but he always craved something with a little more edge- racing, surfing, skydiving, boxing. Women, to him, were just a hassle he didn't need.

Finley was about to give up hope of getting an answer when Victor set his empty glass on the counter. With a flick of his finger, he spun the tumbler, sending it whirling and scattering prisms of light across the marble surface.

His eyes were dark, unreadable. Casually, he said, "Isadora."

Finley froze, caught off guard.

Of all people-her?

rounds in high society lately. Not so much because of the Vaughan family's pedigree, but because she happened

been making headlines for throwing a lavish

had

you wanted to get even with him, I'd have thought Elise would be your type. Isadora's been out of

suddenly felt a cold sweat run down the back

"Magnus? You really think I'd waste my

things to do. It's

going to be the

say that

narrowed his eyes. "You sure know how to run

hard. Did Victor actually want to cut

lost right now, you might not have a tongue left to wag." Alright,

out-he practically flew. Moments later, a private jet soared upward into

leaving her aching and sore, as if every bone had been taken apart and

deafening roar of a helicopter overhead

sheets slipped down, exposing pale skin covered in vivid marks-evidence of what had happened

back. She'd slept with Victor. Worse-she'd been the one to

flush crept up Isadora's cheeks. For a moment, she had no idea how