Chapter 3

The Woman They Fear♣️

‎♣️ ISABELLA'S POV

‎

‎I don’t sleep much.

‎Not because I can’t.

‎Because I don’t need to.

‎The city stretched beneath me in a quiet glow, California alive even in the early hours of the morning. Lights flickered in the distance, cars moving like slow streams of gold across the highway. From up here, everything looked small.

‎Manageable.

‎I lifted the glass to my lips, taking a slow sip of red wine as I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom.

‎White silk brushed against my skin, my robe loosely tied, barely clinging to my frame. The air was cool, but I didn’t feel it. I rarely felt anything I didn’t choose to.

‎My phone buzzed against the glass table behind me.

‎I didn’t turn immediately.

‎I already knew who it was.

‎It rang again.

‎Persistent.

‎I sighed softly, placing the wine down before walking over, picking it up on the third ring.

‎“Uncle.”

‎“You didn’t call.”

‎Straight to the point.

‎Always.

‎I moved back toward the window, resting my hip lightly against the edge.

‎“I’m calling now.”

‎“That is not the same thing.”

‎His voice carried the same weight it always had. Time hadn’t softened him. Distance hadn’t either.

‎“It’s my birthday, not a funeral,” I said dryly, swirling the wine in my glass again. “You’ll survive.”

‎A pause.

‎“You were supposed to be here.”

‎Not anger.

‎Not quite.

‎Something else.

‎Expectation.

‎I exhaled softly.

‎“I have contracts to finalize,” I replied. “Investors don’t care about family traditions.”

‎“I do.”

‎Silence stretched between us.

‎I closed my eyes briefly, tilting my head back.

‎There it was.

‎The only thing that ever came close to… pressure.

‎Not fear.

‎Never fear.

‎Just… obligation.

‎“I’ll be there this weekend,” I said finally. “I just need to finish things here first.”

‎Another pause.

‎Longer this time.

‎“You’re staying too long in that place,” he muttered.

‎I smirked faintly.

‎“California suits me.”

‎“It makes you careless.”

‎My eyes opened slowly.

‎“I’m not careless.”

‎“No,” he agreed. “You’re distracted.”

‎My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

‎I didn’t respond.

‎Because arguing with Mateo was never about winning.

‎It was about endurance.

‎“I’ll see you this weekend,” I repeated, my tone final.

‎Another silence.

‎Then—

‎“Don’t be late.”

‎The line went dead.

‎I lowered the phone slowly, staring at my reflection in the glass.

‎Uncle Mateo never wasted words.

‎But he always meant them.

‎I took another sip of my wine.

‎Then finished it.

‎

‎California wasn’t home.

‎It never would be.

‎But it was useful.

‎Far enough from Greece to create distance.

‎Close enough to control my operations without interference.

‎And the people here, they didn’t ask questions.

‎Not the important ones.

‎To them, I was Isabella Reyes.

‎Businesswoman.

‎Entrepreneur.

‎Owner of a fast-growing luxury fashion brand that had taken the industry by storm.

‎They didn’t know the rest.

‎They didn’t need to.

‎The name La Veintiuna Negra existed in a different world.

‎A quieter one.

‎A more dangerous one.

‎And I preferred it that way.

‎Fear worked better when people weren’t sure where it came from.

‎🖤 Interruptions

‎A knock came at my door.

‎I didn’t turn.

‎“Come in.”

‎The door opened softly.

‎“Miss Reyes?”

‎My assistant, Diane.

‎Young.

‎Efficient.

‎Still a little too nervous around me.

‎“Yes?”

‎“You have a meeting scheduled for twelve p.m. with the shareholders,” she said carefully. “And also… brunch with Miss Sofia. You asked me to remind you.”

‎I closed my eyes briefly.

‎Right.

‎Sofia.

‎The only person in this city who spoke to me like I was… normal.

‎I turned slightly, picking up my glass again.

‎“Reschedule the meeting to one,” I said.

‎“The shareholders—”

‎“Will wait.”

‎She nodded quickly.

‎“Yes, ma’am.”

‎I waved my hand dismissively.

‎“You can go.”

‎She didn’t hesitate.

‎The door closed behind her almost immediately.

‎I let out a quiet breath, setting the empty glass aside.

‎Too many moving pieces.

‎Too many obligations.

‎Mateo.

‎The company.

‎The image.

‎It was all manageable.

‎It always was.

‎

‎🖤 Later That Morning

‎By the time I left the house, the sun had fully risen.

‎The driveway stretched wide and clean beneath my heels as I approached the car.

‎My Maybach.

‎Sleek.

‎Black.

‎Untouchable.

‎Just like everything else in my life.

‎I slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting my sunglasses as the engine purred to life.

‎The road opened before me as I pulled out, merging seamlessly into traffic.

‎California highways were predictable.

‎People followed patterns.

‎Stayed in lanes.

‎Respected signals.

‎Order.

‎I liked order.

‎For a while, everything moved exactly as expected.

‎The hum of the engine.

‎The steady rhythm of the road.

‎Then—

‎Something shifted.

‎A subtle stutter beneath the hood.

‎My eyes narrowed slightly.

‎Again.

‎The engine gave a low, uneven sound.

‎I frowned.

‎That wasn’t right.

‎I eased off the acceleration, listening carefully.

‎Another stutter.

‎Then—

‎The engine died.

‎Silence.

‎The car slowed.

‎I guided it to the side of the highway smoothly, bringing it to a stop.

‎For a moment, I just sat there.

‎Staring ahead.

‎Unimpressed.

‎Of all things—

‎My car.

‎I exhaled slowly, removing my sunglasses as I stepped out.

‎The heat hit immediately.

‎Cars rushed past, wind brushing against my skin as I moved toward the front.

‎I lifted the hood.

‎And stared.

‎I had no idea what I was looking at.

‎Annoying.

‎I crossed my arms, considering my options.

‎Call for assistance.

‎Wait.

‎A car slowed behind me.

‎I didn’t turn immediately.

‎The engine cut.

‎A door opened.

‎Footsteps approached.

‎“Car trouble?”

‎The voice was male.

‎Calm.

‎Casual.

‎I turned.

‎And for a second—

‎Everything went quiet.

‎He wasn’t what I expected.

‎Lean.

‎Muscular in a way that came from work, not the gym.

‎His sleeves were rolled slightly, exposing strong forearms marked faintly with grease and old scars. His hair was long, pulled back into a low ponytail, a few loose strands falling around his face.

‎There was something… grounded about him.

‎Real.

‎He stepped closer, glancing into the engine without waiting for permission.

‎“I can take a look,” he said.

‎I didn’t stop him.

‎Didn’t speak.

‎I just watched.

‎He leaned in slightly, his movements easy, familiar, like this was second nature to him.

‎The scent hit me then.

‎Not expensive cologne.

‎Not artificial.

‎Something musky.

‎Clean.

‎Mixed with the faint, unmistakable smell of engine oil.

‎It should have been unpleasant.

‎It wasn’t.

‎He adjusted something under the hood, his fingers moving with quiet confidence.

‎“Looks like a minor issue,” he said. “You’re lucky.”

‎Lucky.

‎I almost laughed.

‎He straightened, wiping his hands with a cloth from his back pocket before finally looking at me properly.

‎His eyes met mine.

‎And something in my chest shifted.

‎Unfamiliar.

‎Unexpected.

‎“…You okay?”

‎His voice pulled me back.

‎I blinked once, slow, deliberate, as if resetting something that had briefly slipped out of place.

‎“I’m fine,” I said.

‎The words came out steady. Controlled. Exactly how they were supposed to sound.

‎He studied me for half a second longer, like he wasn’t entirely convinced, then gave a small nod.

‎“Alright.”

‎He leaned back into the engine, adjusting something I couldn’t see, his hands moving with practiced ease. There was no hesitation in him. No second-guessing.

‎Competent.

‎I watched.

‎Not just what he was doing, but how.

‎There was no performance in it. No attempt to impress. No awareness of me beyond what was necessary.

‎He wasn’t trying.

‎That alone made him different.

‎“Try it now,” he said, stepping back and wiping his hands again.

‎I didn’t move immediately.

‎He raised a brow slightly.

‎I turned, sliding back into the driver’s seat, pressing the ignition.

‎The engine came to life instantly.

‎Smooth.

‎Clean.

‎I paused, listening.

‎No stutter.

‎No resistance.

‎I stepped out again, closing the door behind me slowly.

‎He was already reaching into his pocket, pulling out something small.

‎“Like I said, minor issue,” he added. “You should be good.”

‎I nodded once.

‎Then reached into my bag.

‎It was instinct.

‎Money solved problems.

‎Money acknowledged value.

‎Money ensured distance.

‎I pulled out a neat stack of cash and extended it toward him without hesitation.

‎“For your time.”

‎Simple.

‎Expected.

‎He looked at the money.

‎Then back at me.

‎And shook his head.

‎“I’m good.”

‎I didn’t lower my hand.

‎“You fixed my car.”

‎“Yeah,” he said casually. “Didn’t take long.”

‎“That doesn’t matter.”

‎He let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a small laugh.

‎“It kinda does.”

‎My fingers tightened slightly around the cash.

‎This was… unusual.

‎“No one works for free,” I said.

‎He shrugged.

‎“Guess I just did.”

‎Silence settled between us.

‎He didn’t look tempted.

‎Didn’t hesitate.

‎Didn’t even consider it.

‎That was new.

‎For a brief moment, I just looked at him.

‎Really looked this time.

‎There was no calculation in his expression.

‎No hidden agenda.

‎Just… ease.

‎Like this meant nothing.

‎Like I meant nothing.

‎That—That was different.

‎He reached forward instead, taking the money gently from my hand—Only to press something else into it.

‎A card.

‎I glanced down at it instinctively.

‎“My shop,” he said. “If anything else comes up.”

‎I looked back at him.

‎“You’re refusing payment.”

‎“Yeah.”

‎“For a job you just did.”

‎He smiled then.

‎Not wide.

‎Not forced.

‎Just enough.

‎“Consider it good business.”

‎I said nothing.

‎Because for once—

‎I didn’t have an immediate response.

‎He stepped back, giving a small, casual salute with two fingers near his temple.

‎“Drive safe.”

‎And just like that—He turned.

‎Walked back to his car like nothing significant had just happened.

‎Like I was just another stop in his day.

‎The engine started.

‎And within seconds—He was gone.

‎I stood there.

‎Still.

‎The sound of passing cars returned.

‎The heat settled back against my skin.

‎But something had shifted.

‎Slowly, I looked down at my hands.

‎Cash in one.

‎A card in the other.

‎For a moment, I simply stared.

‎No one had ever refused me before.

‎Not like that.

‎Especially not money.

‎I lifted the card slightly, bringing it closer.

‎Clean.

‎Simple.

‎Bold lettering.

"‎Daniel Álvarez"

‎An address beneath it.

‎A phone number.

‎Nothing excessive.

‎Nothing unnecessary.

‎I turned it slightly between my fingers, studying it like it might reveal something more if I looked long enough.

‎“Daniel Álvarez,” I murmured.

‎The name rolled off my tongue slowly.

‎Carefully.

‎Like I was testing it.

‎Tasting it.

‎It lingered.

‎Unfamiliar.

‎Yet—

‎Strangely fitting.

‎I didn’t understand it.

‎Didn’t understand why I was still standing there.

‎Why I hadn’t already gotten back into my car and continued my day.

‎Why something so small—So insignificant,

‎Felt like it had disrupted something far larger.

‎I slipped the card into my bag.

‎Kept the cash in my hand a second longer.

‎Then lowered it.

‎For the first time in years, something hadn’t gone the way I expected.

‎And I didn’t know what to make of it.

‎I got back into the car.

‎Closed the door.

‎Sat there for a moment.

‎Quiet.

‎Then started the engine again.

‎But as I pulled back onto the road

‎My mind didn’t return to business.

‎Didn’t return to schedules.

‎Didn’t return to control.

‎It stayed

‎On a name.

‎Daniel Álvarez.

‎