Isabel Love Gloryhole Novels & Stories

Back at the dorm, Kelly rushed over to me in a panic. "Joan, you've gone viral! You're all over the headlines back home!" I was stunned for a moment, unable to comprehend her words. Kelly then handed me her phone. "See for yourself!" I accepted her phone and took a look at the screen. A currently trending article with bold letters was displayed on it. "Romance of the elites! Sebastian Ford confesses to his ex-girlfriend at his engagement party!"

The woman I had let go. Back then, I thought it was what I wanted. I thought the right thing to do was to end things, to walk away, to reclaim what I believed had been stolen from me when Lilly slipped into that coma all those years ago. Isabel had been a part of my life only because of the contract. I mean that was the excuse I told myself. It made it easier to act as if she didn’t matter. But she had. She did. Isabel wasn’t just any woman playing a role in my life. She was the one who had breathed life into my cold, empty world without even doing much.

Isabella’s POV Romeo gently turned me away from the sunlit lounge, away from the giant liar and away from the brunette who had just claimed to be his wife. My vision was completely blurred with hot, angry tears. Every single step felt like walking through wet cement. My chest was entirely consumed by a crushing, humiliating grief that I had no right to feel. I was Isabella Santiago. I belonged to Mateo. So why did leaving this room feel like I was leaving my entire world behind?

Here, the cypress trees grew thick and the air smelled of damp earth, salt, and secrets. I found a stone bench hidden behind a thick curtain of ivy. I sat down, my knees finally giving way, my head falling into my hands. The "Titan" was gone. I was just Isabella, a woman who had traded her soul for a chance to save a child who hated her very existence.

"Give us your address." This is crazy. I'm about to bring three strangers home to fuck me in my marriage bed so my chcheating and abusive husband walks in on us. The old Isabel, the one who gave up everything to please a man who hurt her would never, but that Isabel is dead. She died tonight in that hotel suite, watching her husband choose cruelty over love for the final time. This Isabel? She's done being a victim. I pull out my phone with steady hands and text them the address.

Flipping to the last few pages with writing on them, she quickly reads, tears burning her eyes as she finds what she was looking for. Gwen was now sure that Professor Miles had taken Isa to his pack to impregnate her, entrapping her into being his mate; she would be no better off with him than if she had agreed to her parents selling her off. Placing the note in the front of the journal and keeping hold of it in her hand, she moves over to the small wardrobe they share, crouches down and reaches right in the back to where Isadora’s other journal and the folder they kept all the documentation on Professor Miles were hidden.

She never got that type of thing as a young woman, so I was making up for lost time. Isabel knows the day is coming when her pregnancy will make penetration an issue, so for now she is a little needy for it. I have nothing to complain about, she is a wonderful lover who is up for just about anything she ever read in her Penthouse collections. For a Christmas present I am getting her a collection of books written by Lonnie Barback, Emma Holly, Cecilia Tan plus some Suzie Bright Audibles. -

I trailed off, briefly wondering if the check would still be safe if I’d left it in my bra instead of moving it to my purse when I boarded the final flight that was bound for New York City. “I’m intimately involved with “The Island,” Anya. I’m one of the main investors, and you wouldn’t believe what a chuckle I got seeing your name on the roster of competitors for the weekend.” His beady eyes focused on me, and he licked his lips in a hungry fashion. “I quite enjoyed your show, though was aggravated to have a lot of the footage missing when the producer forwarded it to me yesterday. I didn’t get to see your deflowering, for example. Tell me what the hunter did to you, and in great detail.” I

the maid said gently before leaving the room. And for the first time that night, Isabella was alone. Truly alone. She stepped toward the mirror. And froze. Her reflection stared back at her. Eyes red. Makeup ruined. Hair disheveled. A girl she barely recognized. Isabella's lips trembled slightly. Tears welled up again. But this time, she didn’t fight them. She let them fall. Quietly. As everything she had been holding in finally surfaced. The pain. The shame.

she muttered. Isabel Flores had gone on air just like Vivian promised. The woman looked perfect. Calm. Emotional. Believable. “I stayed quiet for years,” Isabel said on screen, eyes full of tears. “But I can’t live with the guilt anymore…” Amelia let out a slow breath. “Guilt,” she repeated under her breath. “You mean money.” Isabel kept talking about lies, threats, secrets. Painting Amelia as cold. Calculating. Dangerous. A perfect story.