The gala was Marco's idea.
"Visibility," he had said, straightening the cufflinks of his tailored tuxedo. "We must be seen. The more public we are, the harder it becomes for Romano to touch you."
So Isabella found herself swept into the glittering halls of the Palazzo Farnese, Rome's elite swirling around them in diamonds and velvet. Chandeliers glowed overhead, violins played, and champagne glasses clinked like crystal bells. To the cameras flashing at the entrance, they were perfection: Marco De Luca, untouchable billionaire, with his stunning fiancée on his arm.
Isabella smiled when the cameras demanded it, her lips curved into the illusion of serenity. Inside, her heart thundered. The weight of Alessandro's text still pressed heavily in her chest.
Marco's hand rested lightly at her waist, guiding her through the crowd with effortless command. To onlookers, it must have seemed intimate. But Isabella could feel the calculation in every step, every glance he exchanged with influential allies. He was performing, and she was part of the act.
Until she saw him.
Alessandro Romano.
He stood at the far end of the ballroom, a glass of champagne in his hand, his eyes locked on her with a predator's focus. Tall, commanding, dressed in midnight-black, he looked every bit the man she had once been destined to marry. And every bit the man she feared.
Her breath caught. "Marco," she whispered, clutching his arm.
He followed her gaze. His jaw hardened, but his voice remained calm. "Stay with me."
Alessandro began moving toward them, parting the crowd as though the sea itself bent to him. Guests murmured, glancing between him and Isabella, sensing the storm building in the air.
"Isabella," Alessandro said when he reached them, his voice smooth, deceptively polite. "Or should I say fiancée? What a surprise."
The room seemed to hush.
Isabella straightened her spine, though her knees trembled. "Alessandro."
His eyes glittered with anger barely leashed beneath civility. "You've caused quite the scandal. Leaving me at the altar… only to drape yourself on De Luca's arm days later. Tell me, was this your plan all along? To humiliate me? To run into his bed?"
Color rushed to Isabella's cheeks, but before she could answer, Marco stepped forward, his presence filling the space between them.
"Careful, Romano," Marco said evenly, though steel edged his words. "You're speaking to my fiancée. I won't tolerate disrespect."
Alessandro's laugh was sharp. "Fiancée? You expect me to believe this charade? We all know she's playing a part. She belongs to me. Her family promised—"
"She belongs to no one," Marco cut in, his voice low, dangerous. The power in his tone sent a ripple through the onlookers. "Not to her family. Not to you. She made her choice."
Alessandro's gaze flicked back to Isabella, searching, demanding, as though his will alone could bend her. "Isabella, tell me this is a mistake. Come with me now, and we can forget this farce."
The ballroom seemed to hold its breath. Isabella's heart pounded so loudly she thought the violins must surely falter. This was the moment, the choice between the cage she had fled and the uncertain storm she now stood in.
Her throat tightened, but she forced her voice steady. "No, Alessandro. I'm not coming with you. I will never marry you."
Gasps rippled through the guests.
Alessandro's expression darkened, rage flashing like lightning across his features. For a heartbeat, Isabella thought he might strike, consequences be damned. But then he smiled a cold, vicious smile.
"Very well," he said softly. "But don't think this is over. You've embarrassed me, Isabella. And no one humiliates Alessandro Romano without paying the price."
He set his glass down with deliberate care, turned on his heel, and vanished into the crowd, leaving behind whispers and a chill that clung to Isabella's skin.
Her knees wobbled, and she nearly collapsed. Marco's arm tightened around her, steadying her.
"He won't stop," she whispered, her eyes burning with fear. "He'll destroy me."
Marco's gaze softened just for an instant, before steel returned to his eyes. "No. He'll have to get through me first."
For the first time that evening, Isabella believed him. And for the first time, she wondered if what they had agreed to was only pretend after all.
The gala was held in the grand hall of Palazzo Farnese, Rome's jewel of elegance. Chandeliers shimmered overhead, their light reflecting off gilded walls and polished marble floors. Guests in velvet gowns and tailored tuxedos moved like liquid, laughter and the clink of glasses blending into a soft symphony.
Isabella felt out of place despite the designer gown Marco had provided. She tried to keep her composure, but her nerves betrayed her as the press swarmed the entrance and photographers clicked relentlessly. To the world, she was Marco De Luca's fiancée, a perfect, untouchable couple. To her, it was a fragile illusion, one that Alessandro could shatter with a single move.
Marco's hand at her waist was steady, reassuring, but his eyes scanned the room like a predator. He knew something she did not or rather, someone.
Her heart skipped when she saw him.
Alessandro Romano.
Tall, imposing, his black tuxedo sharp against the golden glow of the ballroom, he moved through the crowd with precision, his gaze locked on her. Every step was deliberate, each movement radiating controlled fury.
"Marco," she whispered, clutching his arm.
He gave her a tight, reassuring squeeze. "Stay with me," he said softly.
Alessandro's voice cut through the chatter as he reached them. "Isabella," he said smoothly, though the malice underneath was unmistakable. "Or should I say… fiancée? How… convenient."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cameras flashed, capturing the tension.
Isabella squared her shoulders. "Alessandro."
He smiled, sharp and dangerous. "You've made quite the headlines. Leaving me at the altar, only to attach yourself to De Luca so soon… is this part of your plan to humiliate me?"
Marco's jaw tightened. He stepped slightly in front of Isabella, creating a protective barrier. "Careful, Romano," he said, calm but lethal. "She is not yours to command."
Alessandro's eyes flicked between them, his gaze calculating. "You belong to no one," Marco continued, voice low, "and anyone who tries to claim her will learn that the hard way."
Alessandro's laugh was sharp. "Claim her? I am not a child. Isabella, come with me. We can forget this entire farce."
She felt the room shrink around them, every eye upon her. The choice was clear: yield to the past or stand firm with the man who had offered her protection and, strangely, freedom.
Her voice was steady, though her chest thundered. "No, Alessandro. I will never marry you."
The gasp of disbelief was deafening. Alessandro's expression twisted with fury. For a heartbeat, Isabella feared he might strike. But he smiled again, colder this time, a calculated menace in his eyes.
"Very well," he said softly. "But this is far from over. You've humiliated me, Isabella. And no one humiliates Alessandro Romano without paying."
He turned and moved away, swallowed by the crowd. Whispers and murmurs followed him like shadows, but Isabella barely heard them.
Marco's hand found hers, warm and grounding. "He won't stop," she whispered, fear still tightening around her ribs.
"No," Marco admitted, his voice soft but resolute. "But he'll have to get through me first."
For the first time that evening, Isabella felt a flicker of hope. Together, she and Marco were stronger than she had ever imagined.
And though the night was far from over, for the first time, she believed she might survive, not just Alessandro's pursuit, but the chaos of the life she had once tried to escape.