NovelFinishChapter 297 Isadora couldn't help but raise her voice in protest.
"Mr. Fitzgerald, you're the one who bought all this stuff!" Victor let out a low, dismissive chuckle. "It was pretty expensive. Make sure you leavethe bill." "Victor!" Isadora called his name, exasperation slipping into her tone.
She stood up, jaw clenched.
"Fine. I'll go pack it up myself, and we'll settle up later." She hung up.
Isadora pulled off her pajamas and changed into a plain white tee and a pair of jeans, tossing a mid-length brown coat over her shoulders a look that was crisp and no-nonsense.
She hailed a cab and headed straight for Summit Crest Estates.
Half an hour later, She stepped out of the taxi and took the elevator up to the 66th floor.
The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open.
Isadora walked out slowly.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtEvery chandelier in the living room blazed with warm, golden light.
Beyond the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the city's neon lights shimmered like scattered stars, their reflections dancing across the glass.
The living room was empty. The penthouse was so vast, it felt eerily silent.
She stood at the entrance, hesitating.
After a moment, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall.
Step by step- Isadora looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man emerge from one of the rooms, moving with a casual, unconcerned air.
He was still dressed exactly as he'd been at The Fitzgerald Group earlier that day: a hand-tailored Italian black shirt and suit trousers.
Only the setting had changed.
Here, in his own home, the sharp severity he'd worn all day had faded. In its place, there was something darker- something dangerous.
Victor walked straight to the bar.
He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, uncorked it, and poured himself a generous glass.
He tossed it back in one swift motion, the sound of his throat working strangely alluring in the quiet room. His dark eyes fixed unflinchingly on Isadora where she stood by the door.
Breaking the silence, she spoke first.
"I'm here to collect my things." A faint, mocking smile flickered across Victor's lips. "What, do you need an invitation to cin?" Isadora bit back a retort.
"Right. Sorry to intrude." With that, she stepped inside.
Everything was exactly as she'd left it weeks ago-nothing had changed.
This cold penthouse, once devoid of any sign of life, still bore traces of the life they'd shared.
She hadn't realized, until now, that she'd actually lived here with Victor for two whole months. Shaking off the thought, Isadora headed to the storage room and grabbed a cardboard box.
She moved methodically from the living room to the bedroom, tossing in anything she'd ever used-whether valuable or not.
Victor watched her from where he stood, expression unreadable, eyes trailing over the slim line of her back. She packed with brisk efficiency, showing not a hint of hesitation.
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He let out a soft, sardonic laugh, poured himself another glass of it like it was whiskey and glass f water. The liquor burned all the way down, searing his insides.
After half an hour, Isadora had filled the box to the brim.
She said calmly, "These are all things I've used. I don't know how much ve they cost so just tella number." They stood at a distance from each other.
Isadora didn't meet his gaze, her eyes settling instead on the second button of his shirt.
Victor set down his glass, the sound echoing softly on the marble countertop.
With deliberate, careless arrogance, he strode over to her, the scent of whiskey and the force of his presence washing over her in an instant. Isadora's hands, hanging at her sides, tightened.
Victor glanced over the box, his voice gravelly and low from the whiskey, "That everything?" Isadora instinctively took two steps back, putting space between them.
She nodded. "Yes." Victor's tone was flat. "My assistant will settle up with you." "Alright." Without another word, Isadora picked up the box and walked out the door.
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