Chapter 4

Isabella

I reread the headline until the letters blurred.

Thorne International Expands Into Luxury Wines: New Acquisition Plans in California.

The article was sleek, efficient. Numbers. Contracts. Growth projections. A world I knew too well—one I had left behind.

But all I saw was his name.

Gabriel Thorne.

And beneath it, the vineyard. My vineyard.

The screen burned my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. His empire was already in everything—hotels, resorts, luxury developments—but wine? No. That wasn’t his world. That was mine. Mine and my aunt’s before me.

So why now?

I forced myself to scroll, each word a stab.
Strategic purchase. Prime location. Exclusive distribution contracts overseas.

My chest constricted. It didn’t say the vineyard’s name, not outright, but the description was too precise. Location, acreage, reputation. They were circling here. My inheritance. My lifeline.

My hands trembled as I fumbled for my phone. It had slipped to the floor earlier when I’d first read the article, and I scooped it up with clumsy fingers.

Mia’s name glowed on the screen. A string of messages blinked.

Mia: Isa?
Mia: You saw it, didn’t you?
Mia: Say something.

I typed, erased, typed again. Finally, I sent:
Me: It’s him.

Her reply came instantly.
Mia: I’ll be there in ten. Don’t move.

I stared at the message, then at the glowing screen of my laptop, the article still open like a wound I couldn’t close.

The past three months had been mine. Messy, chaotic, terrifying, but mine. For the first time in years, my choices weren’t measured against Gabriel’s shadow. I worked, I planned, I dreamed. Even when I lay awake at night with fear gnawing at my chest, I could tell myself—this is me. This is my life.

And now he was reaching into it again. Not with words. Not with apologies. Not with explanations. But with money, contracts, lawyers. The tools he always wielded best.

I slammed the laptop shut. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the quiet condo.

---

Mia barged in twelve minutes later, hair a frizzed halo from the wind, tote bag swinging against her hip. She carried coffee in one hand and popcorn in the other, as if this was any other crisis we could drown in caffeine and junk food.

But the look on my face must have told her everything.

She set the cups down, crossed the room in three strides, and wrapped her arms around me. “Oh, Isa.”

The dam I’d been holding back cracked. My shoulders shook as I buried my face against her.

“He’s trying to take it,” I choked. “The vineyard—it’s not even about wine for him. He doesn’t care about it. He just wants to own it because it’s mine.”

Mia stroked my back in steady circles. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” My voice was raw. “You didn’t see the way he treated me, Mia. Everything was about control. His schedule. His house. Even our dinners. He never let me decide anything, not really. And now this—he’s not expanding. He’s invading.”

She pulled back to search my face. Her dark eyes were clear, unwavering. “Then don’t let him.”

The words struck me as both simple and impossible. Don’t let him. As if I had the power to stop Gabriel Thorne, billionaire and empire-builder, with debts mounting at my vineyard and rejection letters from investors piling on my desk.

“He has everything,” I whispered. “And I have… I have nothing.”

“Wrong,” Mia said sharply, squeezing my shoulders until I met her gaze. “You have the vineyard. You have people who believe in it—Antonio, the staff. You have me. And you have yourself. That’s more than he ever gave you.”

Her words burrowed deep, but fear still twisted in me. “What if I lose it, Mia? What if he crushes me again?”

She tilted her head, her voice softening. “Then you stand back up. But Isa, listen to me—you are not the same woman who sat at a marble dining table waiting for him to come home. You left. You chose yourself. That strength doesn’t disappear just because Gabriel shows up in a headline.”

Tears stung my eyes, but beneath them, a flicker of something steadier stirred.

“Besides,” she added with a grin, “if he shows up, I’ll be here with popcorn to throw in his perfect face.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of me. Leave it to Mia to find humor in the wreckage.

But when the laughter faded, determination remained. Thin, fragile, but real.

Two days later, the vineyard hummed with unease.

Rumors had spread faster than wildfire. Staff whispered in the corridors, glancing nervously at me whenever I walked by. Antonio’s jaw was tight as he barked instructions in the field. Even the vines seemed restless, leaves rustling in the breeze like voices I couldn’t quiet.

I spent the morning in the office, a cramped room that smelled faintly of dust and old paper. The financials lay open on the desk. Red ink everywhere. I tried to focus on numbers, but my mind replayed the article until it was etched into my bones.

At noon, Antonio knocked. He stepped inside, cap in hand.

“You saw the news,” he said flatly.

I nodded.

His mouth pressed thin. “The staff is worried. They think Thorne will buy us out. That we’ll all lose our jobs.”

My stomach clenched. “I won’t let that happen.”

He studied me, skeptical but curious. “Big words for someone who still flinches when the phone rings.”

I stiffened. He wasn’t wrong.

But then I forced myself to lift my chin. “This vineyard is mine. And I intend to fight for it.”

For a long moment, Antonio just looked at me. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Then we’ll fight with you.”

The words steadied me more than I expected.

That evening, Mia arrived with takeout and insisted we eat on the balcony overlooking the vines. The sun dipped low, casting everything in golden light.

“You know what I was thinking?” she said between bites of noodles. “Maybe this is good.”

I gave her a look. “Good?”

“Think about it. If Gabriel wants the vineyard, it means it has value. It means you’re onto something. And if he tries to bully you—well, nothing motivates you like proving him wrong.”

I sighed, setting my fork down. “I don’t want this to be about him.”

“It doesn’t have to be. But Isa…” Her gaze softened. “Maybe facing him is the only way you’ll truly be free.”

Her words unsettled me, like a truth I didn’t want to face.

Because the truth was, Gabriel wasn’t just in my headlines. He was in my blood. In every heartbeat I tried to ignore. No matter how much I hated him for neglecting me, for making me feel small, some part of me still remembered the boy who once held my hand under the oak tree and promised me forever.

And that part terrified me.

---

The next morning dawned bright and sharp, the air heavy with the scent of ripening grapes. I woke early, restless, and wandered the rows of vines until the dew dampened my shoes.

I breathed deep, trying to ground myself in the land, in something that was mine. This soil had history. This air carried memory. It wasn’t just business. It was life.

By the time I returned to the house, Antonio was waiting near the steps, cap in hand, expression uneasy.

“What is it?” I asked.

He jerked his chin toward the long driveway.

I turned.

A black car rolled up the gravel path, sleek and deliberate. The kind of car that didn’t belong here.

My stomach dropped.

The car slowed, tires crunching, and stopped in front of the house. The door opened.

And there he was.

Gabriel Thorne.

Tailored suit. Perfect posture. Dark eyes locking on me with the same force that once undid me.

My breath caught, every muscle in my body screaming with memory.

He stepped out, unhurried, like he owned the ground beneath his feet. Like he had already decided this place was his.

And as he started toward me, I realized the truth:

This wasn’t just about the vineyard.

It never was.

It was about us.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready.