Isabel Magnolia Novels & Stories

Days of seeing her at meals, passing her in hallways, watching her smile at Nicholas the way she used to smile at me. Days of torture. Days of wanting something I couldn't have. The bedroom door suddenly opened behind me, and I didn't need to turn around to know it was Isabella. I could smell her perfume—expensive, extravagant, nothing like the subtle floral scent Vanessa used to wear. "Sebastian?" Her voice was soft, tentative. I set down my glass and turned to face her. Isabella stood in the doorway wearing a silk robe that was barely tied, revealing enough skin to make her intentions obvious. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, and she'd clearly just refreshed her makeup.

The air inside the greenhouse was suffocatingly warm, thick with the scent of wet earth, decaying moss, and a strange, sweet, cloying aroma that made the back of his throat tingle. Isabella stood at a wrought-iron potting bench in the center of the humid space. She had discarded her heavy trench coat, wearing only a simple charcoal-grey wool dress. Her dark hair was loosely pinned back, a few stray curls clinging to the damp skin of her neck. She wasn't wearing her diamond leash today. In front of her sat an ancient, terracotta pot containing a lush, dark green plant with dull purple, bell-shaped flowers and glossy black berries that looked like polished obsidian.

The guard made a call and minutes later, the gates opened. The driveway was long, lined with palms and fountains. Whoever this Damien guy is, must be rich. Too bad, I’m richer. The car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion and I looked up immediately. My heart slammed to a dead stop the moment my gaze fell on her. Isabella stood on the front steps in a white shirt that stopped barely below her knee, glowing, smiling like she was exactly where she wanted to be. And it twisted something painfully dark inside me.

"Report back to me by tonight." Across the city, in her Brewery office, Calla stood with Neva and a stunning woman named Isabella. The morning sun streamed through the large windows. Neva had searched for long to find the perfect face for the club, and Isabella was her final choice. "Isabella," Calla began, looking the woman straight in the eyes. "Do you fully understand the job I'm giving you?" Isabella smiled warmly, her confidence clear. "I am the public face of the club. I will greet important guests, give speeches, smile for cameras, and make everyone feel welcome. I will represent Sombra de Agave with grace and charm."

Saved it. Perception was everything. Especially for someone as emotionally fragile as Isabella right now. She needed to believe we were a family. She needed to feel safe. Secure. Loved. She needed to forget how many lies I’d told. Forget how much control I truly had. I returned to my phone, picked it up, and dialed the front desk. “Yes, sir?” the butler answered. “Make sure Isabella’s room is warm when she returns. And place the roses on her nightstand..the white ones, not red.”

Before I could respond, I noticed movement behind Mom. And then I saw her. Isabel. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, fingers intertwined tightly. Her eyes were lowered toward the ground. Her posture… smaller. The first thing that struck me was her outfit. I had never seen Isabel dressed like this before. It wasn’t ugly. Not at all. But it wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t attention-grabbing. It wasn’t dramatic or screaming for validation. It was plain. Modest. Soft. And strangely enough, it suited her.

Isabella had once told me that I looked exceptionally sweet and gentle in this color. I had even brought her favorite mango mousse cake. It was still sitting in the front passenger seat, along with a bouquet of white roses. I'd even had a whole speech ready in my head so that she'd forgive me and perhaps even smile back at me. But now, I was told that Isabella was dead. "It's impossible…" I growled, gritting my teeth as the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. "This is impossible!" It had to be some twisted game Isabella was playing on me! She had done all this to trick me so that she could run away!

“What job am I going to do today?” “Hm,” he looked at the tablet he was holding, scrolling through a few pages before looking at her. “Your schedule is packed Ms. Calixto.” “Am I really starting now? I don’t even know what she does! Like… her mannerisms or something. Don’t people know that about her?” Rojean panicked, looking around the room if there was something she could base Gizelle off from. “Sei liked her black clothes. Do you fancy wearing black clothes? Are you okay wearing black clothes?” Krister asked, looking at his tablet still before walking to the back room.

Some stole glances toward me, quick and unreadable. When the last girl stepped back into line, the Elder smiled and spread his arms. “Let us honor these noble daughters of our allied Packs, who served with grace—” “I’m sorry to interrupt.” The voice cut through the ceremony like a warm knife through butter. Heads turned. The Elder froze mid-sentence. Isabella stepped into view from the far end of the garden, draped in soft blue and shadow. She glided between the rows of seated nobles like she belonged there. No guards moved to stop her. No one spoke.

Mia whispered loudly. Isaac answered quietly, which meant she heard him. “Only wow?” “No,” Zack said. “You have to say super wow.” Isabel rolled her eyes and yanked the first dress over her head. It was soft blue and fitted at the waist. She pulled the curtain open and stepped out with one hand pressed to the side of the dress. “There. Happy?” Mia tilted her head. “It’s nice.” Zack shrugged. “It’s still kind of boring.”