Chapter 2

  Isabella’s POV

  The whiskey burned on the way down, matching the ache hollowing out my chest. I hadn’t let myself near it in so long—avoiding anything that didn’t fit the picture of the perfect wife. But tonight, I welcomed the burn, craving something sharp enough to cut through what I’d seen.

  The images wouldn’t leave. They returned with cruel clarity—sounds, movements, betrayal digging deeper with every flash. I downed another shot, choking back a sob, and signaled the bartender for another. No words—just a silent plea.

  With each drink, the edges of pain blurred. A numbness crept in, replacing heartbreak with haze. If whiskey could drown me, I was willing. Glass after glass, I drank, pushing the memories further back until everything softened.

  The room spun. I gripped the bar, a laugh escaping—rough and strange in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed. Now I sat teetering on a barstool, alone in a crowded room, finding absurd freedom in falling apart.

  I reached for another shot and missed, nearly sliding off. Giggles erupted as I scrambled upright, dizzy and delighted, glancing around. No one noticed. They were drowning in their own glasses.

  I waved for another, resting my head on my hand.

  “You seem… cheerful,” a deep voice murmured beside me—smooth, warm.

  I turned, giggling at the sound. “And they say I carry Medusa’s curse,” I slurred. “That no one can look at me without turning to stone. Because I’m so… unattractive.”

  He slid onto the stool next to me. “You don’t seem cursed to me,” he said with a smile. “Because here I am, looking right at you.”

  His face came into focus. Something about him felt familiar.

  “What do you want?” I mumbled, swaying again. His hand caught me, steady and warm. My cheeks flushed—part embarrassment, part amusement.

  The bartender slid me another drink, but the man took it and drank it himself, eyes never leaving mine.

  “That was mine,” I snapped, irritated.

  “You’ve had enough,” he said, calm but firm.

  “Who are you to say that?” I fired back. “You’re not my husband. And I don’t take orders—not from him, not from anyone.” My voice rose. “So get lost.”

  He ignored me and nodded to the bartender. “Get her a glass of water.”

  “I said whiskey!” I slammed the bar. “Not water!”

  He sighed, leaning close. “You need to stop.”

  “No one can stop me,” I slurred—and then his lips were on mine, silencing me with a firm, unexpected kiss. My thoughts short-circuited, heat flooding through me.

  When he pulled back, there was a spark in his eyes. “Better?”

  I couldn’t speak. Desire swelled suddenly, overwhelming. I kissed him again, with the hunger of someone trying to forget. He responded instantly, one hand on my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened and everything else disappeared.

  His lips trailed to my neck, and a gasp escaped me. My hand slipped downward, finding hard confirmation of his desire. He groaned, low and deep.

  “We shouldn’t… not here,” he whispered against my skin.

  “I don’t care,” I breathed, gripping his shirt.

  He didn’t hesitate. Lifting me with ease, he guided us through the dim hallway into a quiet room. The door shut, and we were on each other again—wild, desperate. Clothes tore. The cold air hit my skin, but I only felt fire. The room blurred as objects clattered to the floor.

  His gaze burned. His fingers trailed my cheek, down my neck, and I trembled. He lowered me onto the bed, his body warm and solid above mine. His shirt fell away, his breath tracing fire down my skin.

  For the first time, I felt wanted. Cherished. Zachary had never touched me like this.

  “Even if you carried Medusa’s curse,” he whispered, lips near my ear, “I’d still look into your eyes. And if I turned to stone—it’d be worth it.”

  A shiver ran through me. “I’m all yours,” I whispered.

  His eyes darkened, and then he claimed me—our bodies meeting in a rhythm that silenced the world. In his arms, I forgot everything but him.

  And when exhaustion took me, I fell asleep smiling—feeling alive for the first time in ages.

  I woke to pain slicing through my skull. My eyes blinked against harsh sunlight. The ceiling above was unfamiliar. My heart lurched.

  I sat up slowly, head spinning. Sheets tangled around me. I was naked.

  Panic surged. “Where… where am I?” I whispered, clutching the blanket tight. The night before rushed back: the bar, the man, the kiss, the bed.

  A groan sounded beside me.

  I turned—and froze.

  The man lay sleeping, his face relaxed.

  But I knew that face now.

  He wasn’t a stranger.

  He was Zachary’s stepbrother.