Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 150

Isadora hung her head, turning her face away.

She couldn't bear for this man to see her looking so utterly defeated and humiliated.

It was supposed to be her 24th birthday—a day for celebration. Instead, it had become a cruel joke.

She could face the world with icy detachment, could withstand almost anything.

But this one small act of tenderness shattered the protective armor she'd fought so hard to maintain.

Her fingers clenched tighter; she bit down on her lip, leaving a faint mark on its soft curve.

The jacket draped over her shoulders was heavy with the faint scent of pine- Victor's scent—its warmth pressing down on her, making her shiver involuntarily.

A lump formed in her throat.

Victor, ever domineering, reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, insisting she look up at him whether she wanted to or not.

He made her meet his gaze.

Victor's eyes bore down on her, dark and intent, his voice dropping even lower. "Who hit you?"

His shadowed gaze swept the room, sharp as a blade, leaving a chill in its wake.

The crowd instinctively stepped back, cowed by his presence. No one dared provoke the infamous heir.

Prescott was slowly dragging himself

water was cold, leaving

had

the hell pushed me in? Are you out of

the first to react, his voice

a sycophantic smile as he bent at the waist in a

your presence. I apologize for not welcoming you properly. This is just a family matter that got out of hand—I'm sorry you had to see

been abroad for years, had never

saw was his father, usually so proud, bowing and scraping like

only grew. "Dad, he's the one who kicked me in! Why are you groveling

understand. This is Mr. Fitzgerald-of

most powerful family in

had their hands in it,

power. A world-class

chill ran down Prescott's

gaze flicked over to him, a glint of ice in

handprint on Isadora's face.

now shook so hard his teeth chattered, unable to utter a

up the sleeves of his black shirt, and slipped off his watch-placing it gently in

she'd given him as a gift,

steps toward Prescott. Each stride radiated

color; he stumbled

the collar and slammed his head against the