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?"

was ragged, hoarse. "That was Pattie's

his tone icy. "Would Pattie

commanding respect-even Dorian Fitzgerald had

hands -would defy her, again and again,

thought darkened her expression even

I gave the order?" she snapped. "Victor,

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

lay a finger on Isadora again. This is

sharp sound broke the

photograph of Dorian at

frame struck

Breathing hard, Deanna shouted,

is Isadora even living here? You know what she

you to get back at me! A woman like her-you want me to accept her into the

vernet

unmoved, His voice was cold and ruthless. "If she wants to play, I'll play with her. If it makes you miserable, then you'll just have to

"And with the old man gone, if you want to

"Victor!"

cruelty. In a sudden burst of desperation, she snatched a letter opener from the

I don't take

turned and walked out

door slammed

and the letter opener slipped from

floor. Her gaze was empty, like a dried-up well lost in the desert-parched,

night was deep and

the balcony like a gauzy veil, casting a gentle, silvery haze over the bedroom.

around the man beside her, instinctively seeking the comfort of his

a long, exhausting

She was so tired.

to sleep in the

drowsiness weighed heavily

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

and intent. He stroked

his voice low and

was already dreaming. With her eyes

for

slept quietly, curled

for a long while, then bent and pressed a

"Goodnight, my Isadora."

slipped carefully out

rose and left the

his gaze faded, replaced by a

like a fortress-grand and imposing, with its main house flanked by four

wing, his posture composed and commanding, dressed in black from head to toe.

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