In the days following her conversation with Matteo, Isla’s concern for Dante only deepened. She was caught in a strange limbo, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why he hadn’t reached out. The silence left her feeling increasingly restless, her mind spinning with possibilities.
Early one morning, as Isla lingered over breakfast alone in the mansion’s expansive dining hall, she decided to distract herself with the day’s news. A newspaper had been left on the table by one of the staff, and she absently flipped through it, her mind only half-focused on the headlines. But as she turned to one of the entertainment pages, a bold headline caught her eye, and she froze, her heart pounding as she took in the words:
“Mysterious Billionaire Dante Maroni Spotted with Rising Starlet Ava Hart – A Night Out at Luxe Nightclub!”
Isla’s stomach dropped. She scanned the article, each word making her feel colder. According to the piece, Dante had been seen the previous night at a high-profile club with Ava Hart, a well-known actress known for her charm and beauty. They had reportedly been seen entering together, laughing and looking very comfortable in each other’s company. The article even hinted at a possible romantic link between them, with photos showing Ava leaning into him, her hand lightly resting on his arm.
A wave of disbelief washed over her, mingled with something sharper, something that she couldn’t ignore-jealousy.
“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” she murmured, the words barely audible in the quiet room. The notion of Dante, who had been so possessive and intense with her, spending time with another woman left her feeling betrayed. The man she thought she’d begun to understand seemed suddenly out of reach, shrouded in mystery once more.
Feeling a surge of frustration, Isla pushed away from the table and stood up, unable to sit still any longer. She paced the room, her mind racing, questions tumbling over one another. She tried to rationalize it-maybe it really was just business, maybe Dante was meeting with Ava for some reason related to his work. But the photos painted a different story, one that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Just then, footsteps sounded from the hallway, and Matteo entered, carrying a stack of papers. He paused when he saw Isla’s expression, his eyes flickering with concern.
“Isla, is everything alright?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She hesitated, not wanting to seem overly affected. But the confusion and hurt inside her demanded an answer. She gestured to the newspaper on the table, her voice barely steady. “Matteo, did you know about this?”
Matteo followed her gaze, and his face tightened slightly as he saw the headline. He was silent for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “Miss Hart is… a public figure. Sometimes business requires a certain level of public exposure,” he said, though his tone was carefully neutral.
“Is that what this is?” she asked, her voice trembling with an emotion she couldn’t hide. “Business?”
Matteo looked at her with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “I can’t speak for Mr. Dante’s intentions, Isla. But I will say this-he’s not a man who makes decisions lightly.”
The words did little to soothe her. If anything, they only deepened her sense of confusion. She clenched her hands, the need to understand pushing her to say something she hadn’t intended to share. “Matteo, he’s been gone for days. And then I see this. How am I supposed to feel?”
Matteo regarded her with a steady, understanding gaze. “I think Mr. Dante would want you to trust him, even when things aren’t clear.”
The advice felt hollow, even if it was well-meant. She nodded curtly, unable to shake the sting of betrayal that had lodged itself in her heart.
As the day wore on, Isla found herself unable to let the article go. The images kept flashing through her mind, reminding her of the unsettling reality that Dante was out there, possibly moving on while she waited in the mansion he had left her in. She’d thought they were beginning to build something, a tentative trust-if nothing else. But now, she wasn’t sure.
That evening, Isla found herself in the study, staring out at the sprawling gardens but seeing nothing. Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by thoughts she didn’t want to face. She had trusted him, even started to care for him in a way that scared her. But the thought of him with another woman, laughing, sharing a night together, felt like a betrayal she hadn’t been prepared for.
A sudden knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Matteo standing in the doorway.
“Isla,” he said gently, “there’s a call for you. It’s… Mr. Dante.”
Her heart skipped a beat, anger, and relief colliding within her. She nodded, following Matteo to the phone, her hands trembling as she picked up the receiver.
“Isla,” Dante’s deep, familiar voice came through, and she felt a pang of relief despite her anger.
“Dante,” she replied, her voice colder than she intended. “Nice of you to call after disappearing for a week.”
There was a pause on the other end, and she could sense him choosing his words carefully. “I had matters to take care of,” he said finally, his tone unyielding.
She clenched the receiver, the image of him with Ava Hart flashing in her mind. “I saw the photos, Dante. You and Ava Hart-are you just ‘taking care of matters’ with her too?”
He was silent for a moment, and she could practically feel his frustration through the line. “Isla, what you saw… it’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re out with someone else, enjoying yourself while I’m here wondering if you’re ever coming back!”
Dante’s voice grew colder, laced with impatience. “Isla, you need to trust me.”
“Trust you?” She laughed bitterly. “How can I trust you when you won’t even tell me what’s going on? I’m just supposed to sit here, like some… some placeholder, while you do whatever you want?”
“Enough,” he said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “This is not up for discussion, Isla. There are things you don’t understand-things I can’t explain right now.”
The finality in his voice made her heart sink. She swallowed hard, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably.
“Fine,” she whispered, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “If you won’t explain, then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”
Before he could respond, she hung up, the sound of the receiver slamming down echoing in the quiet room.
Isla stood there, her heart pounding, a mix of anger and hurt swirling inside her. She had wanted answers, reassurance-anything to explain why he’d been seen with someone else. Instead, all she’d received was cold dismissal, a wall that felt impossible to break through.
Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the study, her emotions roiling. She didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to care about where he was or what he was doing. But as she lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, her mind betrayed her, filling her thoughts with images of him-his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her when they were together.
In the darkness, she felt her resolve waver, her heart caught between anger and something else, something far more vulnerable. But one thing was clear: trust, once broken, was a difficult thing to rebuild.