Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 395

Chapter 397

The night was deep and still.

Moonlight spilled through the balcony like a gauzy veil, casting a gentle, silvery haze over the bedroom. Everything felt warm and peaceful, wrapped in the hush of midnight.

Isadora lay in bed, arms draped around the man beside her, instinctively seeking the comfort of his familiar, pine-scented warmth.

It had been a long, exhausting day.

She was so tired.

She'd thought she wouldn't be able to sleep in the Fitzgerald family's grand estate.

But now, drowsiness weighed heavily on her.

"Victor..." she murmured, half-asleep.

Victor's dark eyes lingered on her, deep and intent. He stroked her soft curls with

a gentle hand, his voice low and tender. "What is it?"

Maybe she was already dreaming. With her eyes closed, Isadora whispered, "Good... night."

Moments later, the room fell silent, save for the steady, peaceful rhythm of her breathing.

She slept quietly, curled up like a kitten.

Victor watched her for a long while, then bent and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, my Isadora."

After a moment, he slipped carefully out from under the covers.

He rose and left the bedroom.

As Victor stepped into the hallway, the softness in his gaze faded, replaced by a flash of cold determination.

The Fitzgerald Mansion was like a fortress-grand and imposing, with its main house flanked by four smaller wings, all in timeless, classical style.

Victor headed toward the rear wing, his posture composed and commanding, dressed in black from head to toe. His footsteps echoed sharply in the quiet halls.

He passed through a long corridor, crossed the back garden, and paused at the door of a room in the west wing.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

Deanna sat slumped in a carved wooden chair, looking drawn and weary.

She was still wearing the elegant, slate-grey suit she'd chosen that afternoon, but her face was ashen, her expression grim.

She didn't seem surprised to see Victor. Resting on her knees was a black-framed photograph of Dorian.

Victor stood above her, one hand in his pocket, his eyes cold and unreadable. "Why did you do those things to Isadora?"

ragged, hoarse. "That

mirthless laugh, his tone icy. "Would Pattie

respect-even Dorian Fitzgerald had deferred to

never imagined her own grandson-the boy she'd raised with her own hands -would defy her,

darkened her expression

gave the order?" she snapped. "Victor, do you

grew colder. After a long pause, his voice cut through the

Isadora again. This is

sound

the photograph of

the frame struck the door,

Breathing hard, Deanna shouted,

Isadora even living here? You know

back at me! A woman like her-you want me to accept her into the Fitzgerald family? Over my dead

vernet

play with her. If it makes you miserable, then

chilling. "And with the old man gone, if you want to enjoy your retirement, I suggest you

"Victor!"

stunned by his cruelty. In a sudden burst of desperation, she snatched a letter opener from

them. He spoke each word with icy finality. "You know I don't take kindly to threats. If you want to do it, I make sure your funeral is a grand

that, Victor turned and walked out without a backward

slammed behind

hand went limp, and the letter opener slipped from her grasp,

empty, like a dried-up well lost in the desert-parched,

was deep

a gentle, silvery haze over the bedroom. Everything felt warm and peaceful, wrapped in the hush

arms draped around the man beside her, instinctively seeking the comfort of his familiar, pine-scented

a

She was so tired.

thought she wouldn't be able to sleep in the Fitzgerald family's grand

drowsiness weighed heavily

"Victor..." she murmured, half-asleep.

and intent. He stroked her soft

gentle hand, his voice low and

With her eyes

room fell silent, save for the steady, peaceful rhythm of

slept quietly, curled up like

then bent

"Goodnight, my Isadora."

moment, he slipped carefully out

rose and left

in his gaze faded, replaced by a flash of cold

Fitzgerald Mansion was like a fortress-grand and imposing, with its main house flanked by four smaller wings, all in timeless,

the rear wing, his posture composed and commanding, dressed in black

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