Isadora knew that if Victor promised to look into something for her, he would see it through-no question about it.
That was why she''d been so confident earlier, telling everyone she wasmitted to taking on this project.
She called Wendy and said, "I''ve already got someone checking on the Abbott situation. We should have an update soon. Let''s just stick to the n for now."
After she hung up, Isadora stared at her phone, lost in thought.
She couldn''t pinpoint when it had happened, but somewhere along the way she''de to rely on Victor-trust him-in a way she never had with Magnus.
The depth of it unsettled her a little.
Victor appeared from the bedroom, fresh from his shower. He wore a ck sweatshirt and gray lounge pants; his dark hair was damp and dripping slightly, a white towel slung casually around his neck as he ran it through his hair.
He leaned in the kitchen doorway, exuding a rxed, effortless charm.
From where he stood, he could see Isadora at the stove, her hair piled up in a messy bun that revealed the elegant line of her neck-like a swan, regal and poised. She was bent slightly over the counter, lost in the rhythm of preparing dinner.
Under the warm glow of the kitchen lights, Isadora''s shirt dress fit her tall, graceful figure perfectly. Her profile was gentle, focused; her movements, practiced and sure. She was a striking presence, as if she belonged in a painting.
Victor strode over, his footsteps measured and confident.
He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her
shoulder, his voice low and teasing. "What are you making?"
Isadora was pan-searing a steak when she suddenly felt the warmth of Victor''s body pressed against her back.
Next thing she knew, he''d pulled her into his familiar embrace.
He smelled faintly of shower gel and cedar, the clean, masculine scentbined with the lingering steam from his shower. It flooded her senses, making her lightheaded for a moment.
She froze, nearly letting the spat slip as a ssh of hot oil threatened to jump out of the pan.
Luckily, Victor caught her hand just in time, helping her flip the steak.
"Careful," he chided, his tone gentle. "Getting distracted while cooking can be dangerous."
Isadora muttered inwardly, Not my fault you snuck up on me and broke my focus.
"Go on, let me handle this," she said, trying to sound firm.
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Didn''t know you could cook."
Isadora had only learned to cook for Magnus, back when she thought it mattered.
But after seeing just how possessive and unreasonable Victor could be, she didn''t dare admit the truth.
"It''s almost done. Why don''t you just wait outside?"
He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What''s the matter-shy? I''ve heard food tastes sweeter when you''re a little embarrassed making it."
Isadora rolled her eyes, speechless.
Just then, her phone buzzed with a message.
She gestured helplessly with the spat. "Can you check who texted me?"
Victor picked up her phone from the counter and, without missing a beat, unlocked it.
Isadora blinked in surprise. “How do you know my passcode?"
"I guessed," he replied smoothly.
She pouted. "Well, I''ll never figure out yours."
He tossed out a number. "1118."
Isadora paused, her hand hovering over the stove. That was her birthday.
She opened her mouth to ask why he''d use her birthday as his code, but before she could speak, Victor said, "It''s a message from your assistant."
She snapped back to the moment. "Oh, I''ll replyter. It''s probably Wendy about work."
Victor started to lock her phone, but something caught his eye—a contact name: "Jerk."
He raised an eyebrow.
Smirking, he leaned in and nipped at her earlobe. "So, I''m your ''Jerk'' now?" The yful bite sent a jolt straight through her, not painful but tingling, electric. She remembered abruptly why she''d changed his contact name in the first ce. “That''s just..." Isadora started to exin, then thought better of it. "Well, if you didn''t tease me so much all the time, you wouldn''t have earned it, would you?"