CH 004: That Makes It Two Of Us

 [ IZAAC ]  

A WEEK LATER

The sharp crash of files and office supplies hitting the floor splits the air, followed immediately by Father’s furious voice, barking over Mr. Wheeler’s strained protests.

“Don’t fucking tell me you don’t know what your daughter did or why she did it!” Father storms closer to Nolan, jabbing a finger into his face, his skin flushed red with rage. “You expect me to believe this wasn’t planned? That you and your precious daughter didn’t strike some filthy deal with the paparazzi to humiliate us in public?”

“We’ve been friends for over a decade, Odion,” Mr. Wheeler says, his voice low and heavy with shame and desperation. “You should know me better than this. I told you… I’ll speak to Brooks. I’ll make her see reason—”

“It’s been a damned week, Nolan!” Father roars, grabbing a chair and hurling it across the office. It crashes against the wall, splintering on impact. “A whole week, and you’ve done nothing! Do you have any idea what that marriage clause means to my family? And you let your daughter wake up one morning and destroy everything?”

Their voices keep clashing behind me, but I don’t turn around.

I sit facing the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, my chin resting on my folded knuckles, staring out at the restless sprawl of Miami beneath us. 

Though I look calm and detached, inside me, there’s a storm tearing everything apart.

Brooklyn.

The more her name surfaces in my mind, the tighter my jaw becomes, and the harder my fists clench. I force myself to stay still and to keep control.

She rejected me. Flatly. Publicly.

She humiliated me in front of both our families and worse, in front of the entire world.

No woman had ever done that to me. Not once. Women chased me. They throw themselves at me, and bend willingly to whatever I want.

And now this girl… this girl… comes out of nowhere and dares to drag my name through the fucking mud.

For a week straight, the headlines have been humiliating and mocking:

“BILLIONAIRE HEIR PUBLICLY REJECTED BY FALLEN HEIRESS.”

“MIAMI’S MOST ELIGIBLE PLAYBOY TURNED DOWN FLAT—INSIDERS CLAIM HE’S STILL BEGGING FOR HER ATTENTION.”

A low growl slips from my throat before I can stop it.

And if anyone thinks that’s the worst part, then they don’t know shit.

As the heir to Armani Automotive Group, my grandfather’s will carried one condition. One non-negotiable clause.

To be married before thirty.

I’d never taken it seriously. I thought I had plenty of time. Figured when the deadline got close, I’d find a woman, marry her for appearances, secure the inheritance, and continue living my life exactly how I wanted.

A perfectly laid plan. Until Brooklyn Wheeler decided to ruin everything!

I’m six months away from my birthday.

Six fucking months.

And suddenly, the future I thought I controlled is slipping straight through my fingers.

“Fuck.” The word leaves my lips in a low snarl.

Behind me, Father’s voice rises again.

“Fix this, Nolan. I don’t give a damn how,” he snaps. “If this isn’t resolved by the end of the week, I’ll have court orders sent. You’ll pay me every cent you owe, and let’s see how fast you can raise that money.”

That’s it.

I push to my feet abruptly. The screech of my chair scraping against the floor cuts through their argument, drawing both men’s attention to me.

I adjust my collar, my jaw locked tight.

I’m taking matters into my own hands.

Without a word, I turn and stride out of the office.

The moment I step into the corridor, Russell: my personal assistant and the only person I tolerate on a daily basis, falls into step beside me, tablet in hand, suit crisp as always.

“How bad is it in there?” He asks as we head toward the elevator.

“A complete disaster.” I reply simply.

We reach the underground parking lot. Russell opens the car door, and I slide into the back seat, loosening my tie as the engine comes to life.

He pulls out smoothly, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“So,” he says carefully, “where to next?”

I keep my gaze fixed on the passing city outside the window, brows drawn tight, every thought circling back to her.

The one woman who had managed to occupy my mind for an entire week straight.

“Do you have the details of her daily routine?” I ask instead, finally shifting my attention to the back of Russell’s head.

He nods, lifting his tablet and handing it over as he eases the car out of the parking lot.

“It’s surprisingly simple,” he says. “She picked up a part-time job at a café about a week ago. She spends most of her mornings and afternoons there. After work, she goes straight to the ice-skating rink for practice and heads home from there.”

I scoff as I swipe through the images on the screen.

Brooklyn on her way to work. Brooklyn behind the café counter, smiling at customers. Brooklyn gliding across the ice.

“So this is her grand plan?” I mutter to myself. “Working at a café and skating around like a child? And she thinks this is how she’ll repay the debt her father owes?”

What a joke.

I exhale sharply and toss the tablet onto the empty seat beside me. “Take me to her.”

~~~~~~

Russell parks across the street from the skating rink.

We sit in silence, watching as Brooklyn steps out of her car, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She greets a few trainees on her way inside, her smile bright.

Displeasure burns in my chest.

For someone who dragged my family’s name through the mud and turned my life into a public circus, she looks far too carefree. The contrast unsettles me, her unpredictability grating on my nerves.

“Are you going in now?” Russell asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes.”

He steps out first to open my door.

The moment my feet touch the ground, I inhale deeply, the warm Miami air doing nothing to ease the tension coiled inside me. I walk toward the building slowly.

And for the first time since all this began, doubt flickers through me.

Brooklyn is erratic and unreadable. What if she refuses to listen? What if she turns me away again?

I scoff internally.

What a ridiculous thought.

Women always listen to me. And even if she tries to be difficult, I’ll make her listen. One way or another.

I’m Izaac Armani, after all.

Inside the rink, I spot her almost immediately.

She’s changed into her skating outfit, already on the ice. And calling what she’s doing practice feels like an insult to her art.

She isn’t practicing.

She’s performing.

Her body moves with fluid precision, slicing through the ice with effortless grace. My steps slow as I stop at the edge of the rink, hands sliding into my pockets as I watch.

Her red hair is twisted into a neat bun, and the way she moves reminds me of a ballerina.

She’s so immersed in the moment that she doesn’t notice me watching.

Until she eventually does.

Her eyes widen in shock, and in that split second of distraction, she misses a step and crashes hard onto the ice.

“Shit.”

I move instantly on instinct, following the padded edge. I step onto the ice carefully and head straight for her.

“Hey… are you okay?” I ask, reaching for her shoulder.

Before I can help her up, she shoves me hard.

I lose my balance and land flat on my ass.

“Get off me, asshole!”

I stare at her, stunned, as she scrambles to her feet, skates off the ice, yanks them off, and storms away.

“Do you have a personal problem with me?” I push myself up and chase after her, pain shooting sharply through my backside. Fuck. This is humiliating. “Why the hell are you acting like I murdered your dog or something?”

“Just fuck off!” She yells over her shoulder, heading toward the locker area.

If she disappears in there, I lose her.

“Brooklyn… just listen to me for one second—” I grab her arm, pulling her back.

She slams into my chest.

Her breath catches. So does mine.

Her eyes fly up to meet mine, wide with panic. And the moment our gazes lock, everything else freezes.

Her eyes are a storm.

Hazel melts into green and blue, bright center dragging me under, pulling me into something dark and suffocating.

A vision crashes hard into me. All too quick.

A knife plunging into her stomach. A faceless man. Blood everywhere. Brooklyn on the floor, dying, whispering through broken breaths:

“Dear universe… let me come back again. Let me have another life. Let me take revenge for my family. Take whatever you want in return.”

My chest clenches violently. I can’t breathe.

The world tilts.

Was she… 

Was she also killed the same night I died?