The night after the gala, Isabella couldn't sleep.
She paced the length of Marco's penthouse suite, her bare feet silent against the marble floor. Outside, Rome glittered a thousand golden lights stretched toward the horizon but all she could see was Alessandro's face, his threat still burning in her ears.
No one humiliates me without paying the price.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering though the room was warm. Marco's world was one of steel and glass, a fortress high above the city. But even here, she felt exposed, as though Alessandro could reach through walls and shadows to drag her back.
The door clicked softly, and Marco entered, his jacket discarded, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He studied her, expression unreadable. "You're still awake."
"How could I sleep?" she whispered. "He won't stop, Marco. You saw him. You heard him."
Marco crossed the room slowly, deliberately, like a man who never rushed but always arrived exactly when he intended. "You're right. He won't stop. That's who he is. Romano doesn't lose, and when he does, he lashes out. But you are not alone anymore."
Her breath caught as he stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"You think this is just a game," she said, her voice trembling. "Pretend. Appearances. But it's my life. My freedom."
"And you think I don't understand what that means?" Marco's voice sharpened, but not in anger. "I've been hunted before, Isabella. Betrayed. I know what it is to feel the walls closing in." His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed her cheek with surprising gentleness. "That's why I made you the offer. Not because I needed a pawn. Because I saw a woman brave enough to run when everyone else would have stayed."
Her heart twisted. She wanted to believe him, but fear still coiled tight inside her. "And when this arrangement ends? What then? Do I just become another scandal in your portfolio?"
Something flickered in his eyes vulnerability, raw and fleeting. "That depends," he said quietly. "On whether you want this to end."
The world seemed to narrow to the space between them, charged with something neither of them could name. Isabella's lips parted, a thousand protests and denials rising in her throat, but none would come. Because the truth was there, pulsing in the silence: she wanted him.
Before she could think, Marco closed the distance, his mouth claiming hers.
The kiss was not calculated, not strategic. It was fire breaking through stone, fierce and consuming. Isabella melted into him, her hands gripping his shirt as though he were the only anchor in a world spinning out of control.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, she searched his eyes. "This wasn't pretend."
"No," Marco admitted, his thumb tracing her jaw. "It never was."
A knock shattered the moment. Marco stiffened, pulling away. He strode to the door, checked the monitor, and cursed under his breath.
"What is it?" Isabella asked, dread curling in her stomach.
He turned back to her, his eyes dark. "Romano's men. He's making his move."
Her blood ran cold.
"Stay here," Marco ordered, his voice like iron. "No matter what happens."
But Isabella shook her head, strength surging through her fear. "No, Marco. I won't hide anymore. I ran once, and I'll never regret it. But if I run again, I'll always be running. I need to face him with you."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then Marco's lips curved in a grim smile, equal parts pride and warning. "Forever or never, then."
"Forever," she whispered.
They faced the door together, ready for whatever storm Alessandro would unleash.
The night after the gala, the penthouse was quiet, but Isabella could not find peace.
She paced the marble floors, bare feet silent against the cool stone, her mind replaying Alessandro's words and the flashes of cameras from the ballroom. The city below glittered, oblivious to the storm swirling in her heart.
Marco entered, shedding his jacket, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar. His presence was steady, commanding, grounding. "You're still awake," he said softly.
"How could I sleep?" she whispered. "Alessandro… he's relentless. He won't let this go."
Marco crossed the room, stopping in front of her. His dark eyes were intense, yet for the first time, softened with something that wasn't just strategy or protection. "I know. He's dangerous. But you are not alone. Not anymore."
Her chest tightened. "Why me?" she asked quietly. "You could have anyone pretend to be your fiancée."
His gaze lingered, as though measuring her worth. "Because you understand freedom. You've chosen it when others would obey. And I… I've lost once before. Trusted someone completely. And the betrayal was… costly. I cannot make that mistake again. You… intrigue me. I want to see what you can become and I will protect you while you do it."
Isabella's heartbeat quickened. His words were both promise and warning.
A knock at the door startled them. Marco checked the monitor, then cursed softly. "Romano's men. He's making his move."
Fear prickled through Isabella, but she lifted her chin. "I won't hide. Not anymore."
Marco's eyes darkened with both warning and admiration. "Forever or never?" he asked.
"Forever," she said, voice steady.
The tension of the night seemed to condense into that single word. Marco nodded, understanding the courage it took. He stepped closer, closing the distance, and kissed her.
It was not a calculated move, not a strategic gesture, it was fire meeting stone, raw and consuming. Isabella responded, gripping him, letting herself feel what she had denied for so long: desire, trust, and a fleeting, fragile hope.
When they pulled apart, breathless, she searched his eyes. "This… wasn't pretend?"
"No," Marco admitted softly. "It never was."
The knock came again, louder. Marco's protective instincts flared. "Stay here," he said, voice firm, almost lethal.
But Isabella shook her head. "No. If he comes, we face him together."
Marco's lips curved in a grim, proud smile. "Forever or never."
"Forever," she repeated.
They moved to the door side by side, ready for whatever storm Alessandro might unleash.
And for the first time since Lake Como, Isabella felt unafraid. She had chosen her path, taken her freedom, and embraced a future that, despite danger, was entirely her own.
The night stretched, the city lights glittered below, and though threats lingered, hope blossomed. With Marco beside her, she had found safety, strength, and perhaps, in the quiet between danger and desire, the beginning of something real.
No more running. No more fear. Only the promise of a life reclaimed, and a love that had been unexpected, unstoppable, and utterly hers.