Victor gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. His voice was low and steady.


    "Remember what I told you? When I was little, my mother was kidnapped. Nannie''s father was working as a driver for my family back then. He died trying to protect her during the abduction."


    "That''s why my grandmother took Nannie in, to repay the debt to the Hayes family. To me, the Fitzgeralds have always been a big family-one more, one less, I barely noticed her."


    "As for what you said about childhood sweethearts-I swear, from the very beginning, it''s only ever been you."


    Isadora met Victor''s dark gaze, staring into eyes that were sincere and fathomless, like the depths of a midnightke.


    Her eyshes trembled ever so slightly.


    She didn''t doubt what Victor said. He had no reason to lie about this.


    But women, she thought, sometimes need more than facts. What they want is a sense of security, and love that is undivided.


    She gave a soft "Mm."


    Victor''s eyes lingered on her for a moment. His tone was gentle but firm. "Isadora, if something''s bothering you, you need to tell me."


    At that, Isadora couldn''t help but speak up. "In that photo... she was holding your hand, she-"


    Victor squeezed her hand, firm and reassuring. "It was just the camera angle. I''d had a few drinks, but the moment she leaned in, I pulled away."


    Isadora lowered her head, lost in thought.


    Worried she might spiral into overthinking, Victor''s voice grew a touch anxious. "Really, I swear other than you, I''ve never touched another woman."


    She finally looked up at him, and after a pause, said quietly, "I believe you." "You don''t look like you believe me."


    She almost looked like she was just cating him.


    Victor felt a headacheing on.


    Where did that picture evene from?


    Why did women always think so much?


    He''d exined everything, hadn''t he? She said she believed him-yet it felt like she only half-believed it.


    Half? Maybe less.


    Isadora abruptly changed the subject. "I''m hungry."


    "I''ll make something."


    Victor stood to head for the kitchen, but Isadora called after him. "There''s nothing in the fridge."


    She hadn''t stayed at Brocade


    Heights in ages. The fridge was


    empty, the power had even been off for a white. The only reason the ce@as livable was because she''d hired a cleaner toe by once or twice a week.


    Victor''s sharp eyes swept over the small apartment.


    He owned more properties than he could count-every one of them a luxury penthouse, a sprawling estate, or a suite in some five-star hotel he''d invested in.


    But seeing that Isadora had no intention of leaving, he said nothing.


    Wherever she wanted to stay, he''d stay too.


    Victor pulled out his phone and


    made a call. Then he took off his suit jacket, tossed his expensive watch on the table, rolled up his sleeves, and disappeared into the kitchen.


    He filled a white kettle with filtered water and set it to boil.


    About fifteen minutester, the doorbell rang.


    Victor went to answer it.


    Kemp stood there, arms full with two heavy grocery bags. He looked up to


    See Victor, sleeves rolledet


    del in hand-looking for all the


    world like a devoted husband.


    Kemp blinked in surprise.


    Wasn''t this the same Mr. Fitzgerald who''d been all decisive and intimidating at the


    board meeting earlier today?


    The contrast was almostical.


    "Mr. Fitzgerald, I brought everything you asked for."


    Victor nodded, taking the bags from him.


    Kemp couldn''t help but nce inside the apartment. He caught sight of Isadora


    curled up on the sofa, book in hand, head bowed in concentration.


    So thedy of the house was here after all.


    No wonder Mr. Fitzgerald had turned into a model gentleman.


    Kemp was still musing when he met Victor''s cold stare.


    Bang!


    The door mmed shut in his face.