The announcement came sooner than Isabella could have imagined.
Within forty-eight hours of shaking hands across a café table, her name was splashed across every glossy magazine and online headline in Europe.
Runaway Bride Finds New Love with Hotel Tycoon.
From Romano to De Luca: The Heiress' Bold Choice.
Scandal Turns to Fairy Tale.
Isabella nearly dropped her phone when she saw the photos—paparazzi shots of her leaving Marco's penthouse beside him, his hand resting with calculated ease against the small of her back. She remembered the flashing cameras, the shouted questions, the chaos of that moment. But in the photographs, they looked perfect. As if they had been in love all along.
It was terrifying.
She slammed the phone down on the velvet sofa of Marco's apartment and pressed her palms to her temples. "This is insane. They already believe it. They think we're—"
"Engaged," Marco finished smoothly, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of wine. "That was the point, wasn't it?"
She glared at him. "The point was protection, not… whatever this circus is."
Marco settled into the armchair opposite her, exuding composure as though the chaos outside was part of a plan he'd scripted months ago. "You can't have one without the other, cara mia. Appearances are everything. If Romano is going to back down, he must believe you've chosen someone stronger than him. Someone untouchable."
His confidence both infuriated and unsettled her. She opened her mouth to retort, but the sharp vibration of her phone cut through the silence. A new message blinked across the screen.
You can't hide forever. — A.R.
Isabella's stomach plummeted. Alessandro.
The glass nearly slipped from her hand as she turned the phone to show Marco. He leaned forward, reading the message, and his jaw tightened. The casual charm vanished, replaced by steel.
"He's moving quickly," Marco muttered. "But he won't touch you while you're under my name."
The certainty in his tone should have comforted her. Instead, it reminded her just how much power Marco wielded, and how much she had placed in his hands.
"Why are you really doing this?" Isabella asked softly. "Men like you don't play savior. So what is it? What's in this for you, besides silencing your board?"
For the first time, Marco hesitated. His gaze drifted to the window, where the lights of Rome stretched endlessly against the night. A muscle worked in his jaw before he spoke.
"Once," he said quietly, "I believed in love. In loyalty. I gave everything to a woman who promised the same. She took my trust and sold it to my enemies, to the press, to anyone who would pay for it. She left me with scars you can't see, but they are there."
Isabella held her breath. The tabloids had whispered rumors, but Marco never spoke of his past. Hearing him admit it, even in fragments, sent a strange ache through her chest.
"I don't make that mistake anymore," Marco continued. "Marriage. Love. Promises. They're illusions. But appearances? Power? Those, I can control. That's why I chose you." His eyes finally returned to hers, piercing. "You ran, Isabella. You defied them. You're reckless, but not weak. I'd rather stand beside someone like you than anyone else."
His words were a confession and a challenge all at once. Isabella swallowed hard, torn between gratitude and unease.
Before she could answer, the apartment intercom buzzed violently. Marco strode to it, pressed a button, and scowled.
"Reporters," he muttered. "Persistent as rats."
But Isabella's heart knew otherwise. It wasn't just reporters out there. Alessandro was closing in. And when he came, the fragile arrangement she had with Marco might not be enough to keep her safe.
For the first time, she realized: her escape from Lake Como hadn't been the end. It had only been the beginning.
The press had been relentless. Within forty-eight hours of agreeing to Marco's arrangement, Isabella's face was splashed across every glossy magazine and news website in Italy:
Runaway Bride Finds New Love with Hotel Tycoon
From Alessandro to De Luca: Conti Heiress's Bold Move
Scandal Turns to Fairy Tale Romance
The headlines made her stomach twist. She had expected secrecy, not a full-blown spectacle.
She sat on the edge of Marco's plush leather sofa, phone clutched tightly in her hands, scrolling through the articles as though each headline could change reality.
"She's everywhere," she whispered. "Everywhere I don't want to be."
Marco entered, impeccably dressed as always, a glass of red wine in his hand. He studied her for a long moment before speaking.
"You're safe," he said softly, but his jaw tightened. "No one can touch you while you're under my protection."
"I don't feel safe," Isabella admitted, her voice trembling. "Alessandro… he's not just angry. He's… dangerous."
Marco's eyes darkened. "I know. I've dealt with men like him before."
She looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, as if weighing how much to reveal. "Once, I trusted someone completely. Gave everything. And she betrayed me. The consequences… were costly. I never allowed myself to be vulnerable again. But I see something in you… something worth protecting."
Isabella felt a flicker of curiosity. Marco rarely let anyone see his vulnerabilities. That he had shared even a hint of them made the walls around him seem slightly less impenetrable.
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed violently on the coffee table. A message flashed on the screen:
You cannot hide forever. —A.R.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Alessandro.
Marco leaned forward, his expression sharp, almost predatory. He read the message over her shoulder and cursed softly. "He's moving quickly."
Isabella's fingers trembled. "I thought… I thought I was safe now."
"You are," Marco said firmly. "But only if you stay with me. If you walk alone, he will find you. And when he does, there's no guarantee he will be merciful."
Her chest tightened. The magnitude of her decision hit her fully. She had fled once to escape a life she never wanted, and now she had aligned herself with another powerful man. One whose protection came with strings she did not yet fully understand.
"And why are you really helping me?" she asked softly. "You could have anyone pretend to be your fiancée. Why me?"
Marco's gaze darkened. He stood and walked to the window, looking out over the Roman skyline. "Because you run when others stay. You value freedom above all else. And I… I've seen what it means to lose trust. To have someone betray you. I don't make that mistake again. You… you intrigue me. I want to see how far you'll go, and I want to make sure no one else harms you in the process."
Isabella swallowed, unsure whether to be comforted or frightened.
A knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Marco strode to the door, checking the monitor. "Reporters," he muttered. "Persistent as ever."
But Isabella knew better. Her pulse spiked. Alessandro's shadow stretched closer, unseen but present, like a storm on the horizon.
"He won't stop," she whispered, turning to Marco. "Not until he has you… or me."
Marco returned to her side, his presence steady, grounding. "Then we face him together," he said. "Not as fiancée and protector, but as partners. You ran once, Isabella. You will not run again."
For the first time since escaping Lake Como, Isabella felt a fragile hope, tinged with fear. With Marco by her side, she might survive Alessandro's pursuit. And yet, a part of her wondered… was she safe, or merely trading one danger for another?
The night stretched on, and the city outside glittered with lights that could not hide the shadows creeping closer. But Isabella pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat steady slightly. She had allies now. She had someone she could trust.
And for the first time in a long time, she believed she might just be able to take control of her own story.