Isabella's POV:

The house was suffocating.

It had only been a week since I moved back into my father's estate, but it felt like a lifetime. Each day stretched on endlessly, the hours slipping through my fingers in a haze of numbness and confusion. Every room of the house was heavy with the past—reminders of a time when I was just a girl, innocent to the dangers of the world, unaware of the darkness that would soon consume everything I thought I knew.

I had told myself that being here would give me space to think, to breathe, to figure out what I wanted to do. But the truth was, it was suffocating me. My father's estate, once a symbol of safety, now felt like a cage. I felt trapped inside these walls, locked in with my own heartbreak and confusion. There was no escape from the memory of Antonio. Even here, he haunted me.

I thought coming home would help me put distance between us, help me heal, but it had only made things worse. I couldn't stop thinking about him. About the betrayal. About the video. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him with Sofia, saw their bodies tangled together in a way that should have been mine, ours. The pain was like a wound that refused to heal, raw and aching no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

I sighed, pacing the length of my room for what felt like the hundredth time, my feet padding softly against the thick carpet. I had barely left this room since I arrived. I didn't want to face my father's questions or the concerned looks from the staff. I didn't want to admit that I was broken. That I didn't know how to move on.

I glanced at my phone lying on the bed. I had left it untouched for hours, not wanting to see the messages or the missed calls. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone—least of all Antonio. I had seen his name light up my screen more times than I cared to admit, but I had ignored each and every call. The pain was still too fresh, too sharp.

I couldn't face him. 

Not yet.

But as much as I tried to avoid it, I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my mind, the feeling that there was still something left unsaid between us. That there were answers I needed. I needed to know why. 

Why he had done it ?

Why he had betrayed me ?

Why he had chosen Sofia ?

I moved to the bed, sinking down onto the edge as I stared at the phone. My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, hesitating.

I could end it here, couldn't I? 

I could block his number, cut him out of my life completely, and try to piece together the broken pieces of myself without his shadow looming over me.

But then my phone buzzed, vibrating softly against the covers, and the decision was made for me.

I flinched at the sudden noise, my heart lurching in my chest as I stared at the screen. Antonio's name flashed across it again, and for a brief second, I considered letting it pass. But this wasn't a call. It was a message. Something in my gut twisted. It felt different. Urgent.

With shaky hands, I unlocked the phone and opened the message.

Antonio: Isabella, please. We need to talk. Meet me. I can explain everything.

I stared at the message, my breath catching in my throat. He wanted to talk. To explain. 

What could he possibly explain? 

How could he justify what I had seen with my own eyes? 

And yet, despite the anger and the hurt swirling inside me, there was a part of me that wanted to hear him out. I needed closure. I needed answers.

My fingers hovered over the keys as I debated my response. I could tell him no, could shut the door on this conversation before it even began. But I knew myself too well. I wouldn't be able to move on without knowing the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

I typed a quick reply before I could change my mind.

Me: Where?

His response came almost immediately, as if he had been waiting, holding his breath.

Antonio: The house on Via San Marco. You know the one. 7 p.m.

I knew the house. It was a safehouse he had used before, tucked away on a quiet street in the heart of Rome. It was private, secluded, the kind of place where no one would disturb us. A place where we could talk without the eyes of the world watching.

My heart pounded in my chest as I read the message again. This was it. I was going to see him. I was going to face him, and I had no idea how it was going to go. The thought terrified me, but I couldn't run from it any longer.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was already 5 p.m. I had two hours to prepare myself, to gather the courage I would need to confront him.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked to the closet, pulling out the first dress I saw. It didn't matter what I wore. I wasn't going there for him. I was going for me. I was going for answers.

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Antonio's POV:

I paced the length of the room, my nerves on edge, my mind racing with what I would say when I saw her. The house on Via San Marco was eerily quiet, the dim light from the setting sun casting long shadows across the floor. I had used this safehouse many times before, but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt like the walls were closing in on me, like the air was too thick, too heavy.

I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure I hadn't missed a message from her. Isabella had replied—thank God—but now the wait was killing me. I didn't know how she would react when she saw me. Hell, I didn't know if she would even show up. But I had to believe she would. I had to believe that there was still something between us worth fighting for, even after everything.

Even after the lies, the betrayal, the mess I had made of our lives.

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. How the hell had things gotten so out of control? How had I let this happen? I had always prided myself on being in control, on having everything in my life tightly managed, but this... 

This was chaos. And it was my fault.

The video. The betrayal. Isabella had seen it, had seen me with Sofia, and I couldn't blame her for hating me. I hated myself for letting it happen. But what she didn't know—what she needed to know—was that everything she had seen, everything Elena had shown her, was a lie. A twisted, manipulated version of the truth.

I didn't love Sofia. 

I never had. 

She had always been... intense. Loyal to a fault, yes, but there was always something beneath the surface, something darker. I had ignored it, brushed it off as ambition or drive, but now I knew better. Now I knew that she had been playing her own game all along. And I had been too blind to see it.

But it wasn't just about me. Isabella deserved the truth. She deserved to know that I hadn't betrayed her, not in the way she thought. Yes, I had made mistakes. I had let Elena get too close. But I hadn't crossed the line Isabella believed I had. And I couldn't let her walk away without knowing that.

My phone buzzed again, and I nearly jumped at the sound. I grabbed it from the table, my heart racing as I saw the message.

Isabella: On my way.

A flood of relief washed over me, but it was quickly followed by a surge of anxiety. She was coming. She was giving me a chance to explain, but would it be enough? 

Would I be able to make her understand? Or had I already lost her for good?

I checked the time. It was almost 6:30. She would be here soon. I needed to calm down, needed to clear my head. I couldn't afford to screw this up. Not now.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey from the bar in the corner of the room, hoping it would take the edge off the nerves that were gnawing at me. But as I took a sip, the sharp burn did little to calm me. The weight of what was about to happen pressed down on me, heavy and unrelenting.

I couldn't lose her. Not like this.

I stared at the glass in my hand, my mind flashing back to the night this all started. The night Sofia had drugged me. I had been so careless, so focused on everything else that I hadn't seen it coming. I hadn't seen her coming. And now, I was paying the price for my mistakes.

I set the glass down with a soft thud, my jaw clenched. No more mistakes. I had one chance to fix this, to make Isabella see the truth. And I wasn't going to let anyone—not even Sofia—take that away from me.

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped me out of my thoughts, and I straightened, my heart thudding in my chest. She was here.

This was it.

I walked to the door, my hand hovering over the handle for a moment before I pulled it open. And there she was.

Isabella stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and guarded, her face pale in the fading light. She looked so fragile, so heartbroken, and it tore at something deep inside me. But she was also strong. I could see it in the way she held herself, the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes blazed with a mix of anger and hurt.

"Isabella," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't respond right away. Her eyes flickered over me, taking in my appearance, and for a moment, I wondered if she was going to turn around and walk away. But then she stepped inside, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice cold and clipped.

I nodded, stepping aside to let her in, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it. My chance to fix what I had broken.

But as I closed the door behind her, I couldn't shake the feeling that this conversation could change everything. 

And I didn't know if I was ready for what came next.