Isabella Icardi Novels & Stories

Her stomach tightened into a knot, failed to hide the discomfort that she was feeling inside. Ikaya frowned shooting Isabella a puzzled look, " Who is she, Lucien? It seems like a human." Lucien gulped down his words nervously. He could feel through his mate bond that Isabella was getting uncomfortable slowly. Lucien pushed away her arms slowly and replied truthfully, " Ikaya..I...I have.. married Isabella..This is Isabella Adams, my wife." Shock, hurt all the bad expressions that existed on earth formed on Ikaya's face. Her painted lips trembled together. Letting out a humorless chuckle, she spoke shifting her gaze between Isabella and Lucien,

"As soon as I got here, I called him. He quickly clarified, making sure Isabella knew he had done it before he knew what she had said about Maximo, and that she wasn't betraying him. "I understand..." Isabella clenched her fists at her sides. - Listen, Maximo... The truth is that Diego exaggerated. He shouldn't have called you because I don't have anything serious, and I don't plan to come home with you. I want to continue studying, this is not too much for me. I am not less than you or any of you. If you could do it, why can't I do it? "Isabella..." Máximo looked her in the eyes, his irritation palpable. She used to be submissive, sweet, and calm. What had changed?

‎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.

he says and puts down the phone. "Sorry? My invitations? What—" Before I can finish my question someone comes in and puts some invitations on Eddie's desk. If Gabriel's invitation is Mount Everest, this one is like Mount Kilimanjaro. I peek at the name. Isabella Montenegro... all of it in my name. Well, some of it is Isabella Remington (who is she?) "Welcome back to your famous life, Izzy ." Eddie smiles at me. ***

Isabella leaned in as well, defiance flickering in her eyes " You see that's what I find very fishy. Elara, stepping down from being the most recognizable fashion tycoon in Seattle. If that does not sound like bullshit to anyone, it sounds like bullshit to me.” Aiden wasn't planning on saying anything else before the bartender came and handed over a form. " You have to fill this and how many bottles you need to be delivered” Isabella turned back to the bartender with a small smile and then back at Aiden. She reached for her bag and pulled out a card. " Here's an invitation card, just Incase you change your mind" With that she got up from the stool with the form in her grip and moved over to

“This is Isabella’s real record. Four abortions, caught cheating in casinos seven times, and suspected of selling arms routes from three families. Her child, no matter whose, shouldn’t ever be born.” I looked at the file and suddenly laughed. “Silas, Father told me a consigliere shouldn’t interfere in family violence.” “That’s true,” he said, kissing my forehead. “But it’s a man’s duty to protect his fiancée.” Three days later, news came from Colombia. Isabella accidentally triggered a landmine on the farm. She was blown to pieces, along with her precious child. After kneeling at the blast site all night, Theo requested to return to Sicily the next day.

Ivy began reading the captions to understand the photos even more. “Last night was a fever dream. Thanks to my team who helped me turn my vision to reality. I hope everyone had fun! Xoxo, Bell.” “Hmmm,” she mused as she read the caption. “So she's like a curator of some sort?” The more she scrolled, the more of Isabella herself she started to see. Isabella having breakfast at rooftop buildings. Isabella posing with animals, and sand on the beach. Isabella in the midst of children, as they all hugged her. Isabella on billboard, with the world's hottest men beside her.

Her doll-like brown eyes shone when she spoke. Irina did not know what to make of either of them, and so, she nodded. "I feel better." "Wait a minute, I know her. You go to El Salvador Central College, don't you?" The girl asked. "Yes." Irina frowned. "I'm Isabella, but you can call me Issa for short." She smiled at her. "Do not worry, you're in safe hands. Devon here will take great care of you." Issa smiled at him.

Danica had invited only the daughters and sons of prominent families from Barcelona. Isobel was also part of this social circle. “Oh, isn’t that Isobel? What’s she doing here?” “Isobel, why did you get slapped? What trouble did you get into this time?” “Isobel, why do you look so upset? Is something bothering you? Tell us, let's all have a laugh." Although Isobel had managed to infiltrate the upper crust, everyone knew about the things she had been up to lately. First, she plagiarized MISSY, embarrassing herself at the Paris International Competition.

"Isabella. She’s the weak link in the chain. Is she cracking under the pressure?" Dante recalled the dining room—the sight of Isabella’s pale, slender fingers lifting the wine glass beside a fresh corpse, her hand completely devoid of a single tremor. "She isn't cracking," Dante said, a cold edge entering his voice. "She’s not the fragile asset her father thinks she is. She’s balancing a multi-million-dollar cartel money-laundering node in Brera, and she did it right under my nose while I was sitting in the garage." "What do you mean?"