When Isadora nced at her phone behind the wheel, her grip on the steering wheel unconsciously tightened.


    Wait for your sister!


    That''s what she''d said-but at the end of the street, Isadora still made a turn in the opposite direction.


    Half an hourter, she arrived at Summit Crest Estates.


    Maybe Victor had already told the building manager she wasing, because the usually vignt security guard waved her through the gates the moment he spotted her license te.


    Isadora parked the car, then took her private elevator straight up to the 66th floor -the penthouse.


    She punched in the code, and with a soft click, the double doors slid open.


    The massive, luxuriously furnished living room was aglow with dazzling lights, butpletely empty.


    She lingered in the entryway for a moment, then finally stepped inside, bending down to swap her shoes for a pair of women''s slippers she''d left there the other day.


    Just then, the bedroom door creaked open.


    A tall man emerged, moving with azy confidence.


    Victor had a towel slung low around his waist, his abs sharply defined, chest glistening with droplets of water that traced down his skin before vanishing into the t nes of his stomach. His hair was dripping, silent rivulets falling onto the floor.


    Isadora blinked, feeling for a moment as if she''d been transported back to that first morning after her kidnapping-when he''de out of the bathroom just like this.


    Victor casually toweled off his hair as he strolled to the open kitchen, poured himself a ss of water, and leaned against the counter, dark eyes flicking over to her.


    Isadora shifted, ufortable.


    Their argument that afternoon still hung between them, and she wasn''t sure how to face him now.


    Beforeing over, she''d told herself: Just treat him like a benefactor-do what''s expected, don''t overthink it.


    But now that he was right here, Isadora''s heart was beating faster than usual.


    Was it because the man was just too attractive, standing there bare-chested, his skin practically radiating masculine energy?


    Even when she was angry at him, she had to admit his looks and perfect body could almost make you forget his terrible temper.


    Victor set his ss down on the counter with a soft clink, lips curving ever so slightly. "I know you''re admiring my body, but try to control your gaze, will you?"


    Isadora''s face went crimson-only now realizing she''d been staring at him the whole time.


    Honestly, who wouldn''t look? He was practically an exhibitionist, parading around in nothing but a towel.


    Before she could respond, two quick knocks sounded at the door.


    "Mr. Fitzgerald, your dinner''s here," called a voice from the hallway.


    Isadora turned to see two chefs in crisp white uniforms standing at the entrance, pushing a small cart.


    Victor nodded in their direction.


    The chefs wheeled the cart in with practiced efficiency, ting a colorful array of dishes onto the dining table. When they finished, they bowed politely and slipped out, closing the door behind them.


    "Come eat," Victor''s low, indifferent voice called out across the room.


    Isadora nced at the table: crispy pork ribs with a sweet ze, sautéed vegetables, a hearty chicken and vegetable soup, roast chicken with herbs, shrimp scrambled eggs, and a tter of garlic butter scallops.


    She swallowed, deciding it was pointless to fight her own hunger.


    Isadora sat down and focused on her meal, silently eating.


    After a while, Victor spoke up, his voice edged with azy drawl. "Isadora."


    She paused with her fork in midair, blinking at him in innocent confusion.


    "Why do I have to feed you? You have hands, don''t you?"


    Victor leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed. "Isn''t this what girlfriends are supposed to do?"