Terrell exchanged a few more words with Isadora, then turned and walked away.


    Victor watched him go with a cool, dismissive nce, before wrapping his arms around Isadora''s slender waist again. He drew her close, holding her so she was face to face with him, their bodies pressed together.


    With his head lowered, Victor met her eyes-a stormy, jealous look in his own. "From now on, I don''t want to see you smiling at other men," he dered.


    Isadora blinked, her clear eyes innocent as she protested, "Was I even smiling?"


    Victor gave a low, skeptical hum, then pulled his lips into a teasing imitation of her usual smile.


    "Just like that—you smiled exactly like that."


    Seeing him bare a row of pearly teeth, Isadora couldn''t help but stifle augh.


    "So what, am I supposed to keep a straight face and look all stern whenever I talk to another man? People would think I''m a weirdo."


    Victor''s lips quirked in amusement. "Honestly, that might not be such a bad idea."


    If she weren''t so stubborn about her independence, he''d keep her hidden away at home, far from prying eyes.


    "You''re impossible," Isadora muttered, ready to move on.


    After all, they were standing in the middle of the interview studio, surrounded by journalists, cameramen, and a handful of Pulse News executives hovering nearby, clearly wanting to approach but not daring to interrupt. Thest thing Isadora wanted was to be the center of gossip.


    But Victor''s grip was unyielding—she couldn''t budge an inch.


    He gazed deeply into her eyes, his voice low and intent. "Do you remember what you owe me?"


    She looked up at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"


    Victor''s lips curved into a mischievous, lonely smile. He deliberately lowered his voice, mimicking her soft, lilting tone and drawing out the words. "What do you mean, ''what''?"


    Isadora couldn''t help it—a radiant smile broke across her face, lighting up the entire studio like spring sun.


    She bit her lip yfully, shooting Victor an exasperated re but refusing to


    answer.


    Victor''s eyes darkened with affection. He slowly bent down, his lips brushing against hers, and whispered, "I''ll let you off for now. But once we''re married, I expect to hear you call me ''husband'' every single day."


    "Oh, you''re impossible. Let me go-everyone''s watching!" Isadora protested, giving his chest a gentle punch and finally managing to wedge some distance between them. ,


    She could feel the heat of a dozen curious stares glued to them, but Victor seemed serenely oblivious.


    Atst, seeing the blush blooming across her cheeks, he released her.


    With elegantposure, Victor


    extended his hand to her, a smile


    ying at his lips. His voice was warm and deep, every word deliberate: "Shall we, Mrs. Fitzgerald?"


    His hand-pale, long-fingered, and sculpted like a work of art was offered to her with a quiet sense of ceremony, as if this was a promise he meant to keep.


    Isadora hesitated only a moment. Warmth flooded her chest, spreading to every part of her body. Slowly, she ced her hand in his.


    Victor''s fingers threaded through hers, holding tight—her hand small and delicate in his grasp.


    And so, hand in hand, Victor led her out of the studio, all eyes upon them.


    At the door, Terrell caught sight of the couple leaving together. He looked down, hiding the brief flicker of sadness in his eyes, and started toward the exit.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man a few feet away, also staring after the departing couple, radiating a cold, unapproachable presence. Magnus Wainwright.


    Sensing someone''s gaze, Magnus looked up and met Terrell''s eyes.


    For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both expressions shadowed and unreadable.


    Magnus''s face was as icy as ever, his tone edged with bitterness. "What are you looking at? Don''t get me wrong I''m not like you. At least I had her, once."


    Terrell''s gentle features hardened. "Is that so? Well, at least I''m still her friend. You''re nothing to her now."


    The words hit Magnus like a knife to the heart.


    He''d been trying to convince himself


    to move on from Isadora. She didn''t


    love him anymore-surely he


    the sort to cling desperately to


    asn''t


    someone who''d let him go.


    That wasn''t him. Or so he told himself.


    But whenever a friend mentioned the smallest detail about her, he realized just how flimsy his resolve really was.


    Magnus''s voice was cold as steel. "A friend? What good is that? Standing by and watching her walk into another man''s arms—I''d rather not watch at all."