Isadora's Pov
1 WEEK LATER,
Darren had a meeting with the major and, for some reason, decided I should tag along. I had no idea what his game was, but I agreed anyway.
After getting ready, I stepped out of the en suite — only to freeze at the sight on my bed.
A red dress was sprawled across the bed. It looked like something out of a high-fashion magazine, deep crimson fabric shimmering under the soft lighting.
Next to it, a small note in Darren's elegant handwriting : "Wear this"
I scoffed, picking up the dress with a critical eye.
Just what was he playing at?
Still, curiosity got the better of me and a few minutes later, I found myself slipping into the silky fabric.
As I walked down the grand staircase, I overheard Darren's voice drifting through the air.
He was on a call, his tone calm and businesslike. But the moment our eyes met, he stopped mid-sentence and then his cheeks turned pink.
Wait.
Darren was blushing?
He ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket like he'd been caught doing something embarrassing.
I suddenly felt awkward and curled my fingers around the smooth fabric of my dress.
"I don't like going out." I said, trying to distract myself from whatever that reaction was.
Darren's lips parted slightly, his gaze lingering on me. Then, in a tone softer than I expected, he said, "You look beautiful."
My heart skipped a beat and for a second, I just stood there, blinking at him like an idiot.
But before I could fully process what had just happened, he cleared his throat, regaining his mask of indifference.
"The mayor is waiting. Let's go." he said smoothly, turning towards the door.
I exhaled, trying to shake off the unexpected warmth in my chest. Whatever that was, I didn't have time to dwell on it.
I cleared my throat and followed.
The moment we stepped into MINE, the city's most expensive hotel, I knew this night would be a disaster. And not because Darren Barlowe was beside me or because I had to keep up this farce of a "happy" marriage in front of the mayor but because every eye fell on him.
Whispers.
Stolen glances.
Cold judgment.
These people weren't just watching. They were waiting.
Waiting for him to fail.
For him to do something monstrous.
I swallowed, forcing a polite smile as the mayor approached.
"Mrs. Barlowe," The barrel-chested man greeted me warmly and took my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "What a stunning woman you are. Darren, you never told me your wife was so beautiful."
Darren didn't react, holding his cold, unreadable mask firmly in place.
"She speaks for herself," he said simply.
I almost rolled my eyes. That was his way of saying nothing at all.
The major chuckled, completely charmed. "You must be the pride of this city. I hope Darren treats you well."
I should've lied.
I should've just smiled and nodded.
But the truth caught in my throat, and I only managed a strained, "He's… quite the gentleman."
Darren looked at me and for the first time, I thought I saw something flicker behind his guarded gaze. Something soft but before I could dwell on it, a waiter passed by, and I stood to excuse myself.
Bad idea.
The second I got up, the heel of my shoe got caught in the floor. My balance tipped
Shit.
Before I could fall face-plant on the floor, a firm grip pulled me upright before I could crash.
Gasps filled the room.
Every pair of eyes locked onto us, and I felt Darren's hand tremble behind my waist.
People whispered.
People stared.
"Did you see that? He caught her."
"The monster of Barlowe touched her."
"How terrifying."
"Imagine being kissed by him."
I yanked myself away just in time, Shane crawling under my skin.
Darren's fingers twitched at the sudden rejection but he didn't say a word. His face remained blank but I could feel the hurt. I could feel the realization that no matter what he did, people would always see him as nothing more than a monster. Something ugly. Something unwanted.
The event ended quicker for us than it actually did. I figure it'd happen that way.
As we strolled to the car, I couldn't help but steal glances at Darren. He kept his face blank and his hands in his pocket. Was he still upset from what happened? Well, who wouldn't? The people who called themselves his so-called friends looked at him like he wasn't human and his so-called wife, me, flinched at his touch. I wouldn't exactly call that a blissful evening.
We got to the car and he pulled open the door to the backseat. I got in, waiting for him to slam the door but and get us out of here but instead, he hesitated.
"Dominic," he gestured to the newly hired driver and said. "will take you home."
"What?" I was stunned. "Why?"
I was taken aback. Why did I react that way? If anything, I should be relieved but instead a hollow feeling borrowed its way into my chest and I watched silently as he closed the door and walked away.
As the car drove, I couldn't help but stare at the empty seat beside me, unsettled by his absence. We had arrived together now, we were leaving separately.
No matter how it seemed, it didn't sit right with me.
That night was the time I realized the mansion was too big. Too empty even.
Dinner alone was tasteless and the bed, usually warm, was now cold.
Sleep used to come easy to me but I couldn't get my eyes to close. Instead I tossed and turned, my mind refusing to rest.
And not because of my situation or for the fear of my future but because of him.
The way his hands had caught me. The way what whispers and sneers of disgust had filled the room. The way he had held the door open for me despite it all and the way he had looked at me when I pulled away from him.
A memory of the faint flicker of pain on his face flashed in my mind and I felt awful. I hated it. I hated him for making me feel this way. For making me wonder what if…
What if he wasn't a monster after all?
I pondered on that question until sleep finally gave me a break and stole me away to dreamland.
I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep but something stirred me awake.
It was a sound.
A low, quiet wince.
I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest. Someone was here.
I slid out of bed, my bare feet silent against the floor as I stepped closer. The bathroom light was on and the door was slightly open and inside was…
"Darren?" I gasped.
He was slumped against the sink, gripping his face —the scarred part of his face.
His breath was uneven, strained even. His jaw was clenched as he struggled to suppress the pain rippling through him.
"Darren." I repeated in a whisper.
His head snapped up, his eyes dark and wild.
"Get out!" He growled.
I didn't move
I couldn't.
Not when he was hurting.
His fingers dug into his skin, his entire body tensed as if he was fighting an invincible force.
I hesitated, then took a careful step forward. "You - Darren, you're in pain —"
"Leave!" He yelled again, this time with a crack in his voice.
Hearing and watching him struggle cut through me like a blade and I bled. I couldn't leave. I wouldn't.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't seeing the cold, ruthless billionaire nor the monster of Barlowe, I was looking at a man in pain. Not just any man but my husband — a man who'd spend his entire life alone.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and knelt beside him.
He flinched at the sight and demanded what I was doing there. "What are you doing?"
Ignoring him, I reached out and brushed my fingers against his.
"Don't!" He warned, his voice raw with pain and another emotion I couldn't give a name.
Despite his warning, I refused to listen.
"Isadora, you can't see me like this." He whispered, as if the words hurt more than his scar. "I'm a — a monster."
"You're not a monster." Those words left me before I could stop them.
Darren stiffened and in that moment, I realized something.
Monsters don't act like gentlemen and hold doors open.
Monsters don't catch you when you fall.
Monsters certainly don't compliment your dress and tell you it looks beautiful.
I took a breath and waited, waiting for him to push me away…
But before he could, I moved instinctively, climbing onto his lap. His body went rigid, his breath hitching as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing his face against my chest.
He froze, not moving, not breathing. Like he didn't know what to do.
I brushed my fingers through his lush, dark hair and whispered. "You're not a monster, Darren."
His shoulders trembled and I pressed a light kiss on his scar.
"You matter." I didn't know why I said it. I didn't know what my heart clenched when he finally, slowly, melted against me — his arms wrapping around my waist, holding onto me like I was the glue keeping him from falling apart, like I was the only thing that gave him air, I let myself wonder again...
What if I'd been wrong about him?