Chapter 3: Aaron Kazarov
Hearing Aaron Kazarov’s name on the television made Isabella freeze for a second before she steered toward the sound.
Her father had spent years keeping his dealings with Aaron completely hidden. But she knew the truth behind the Lotus automotive brand.
The shiny cars and clean showrooms were just a cover for a network built entirely on intimidation and blood. She hated every single part of it. And she absolutely detested Aaron.
Her mind drifted back five years, to an afternoon back when her eyes actually worked, before the blindness permanently rolled in.
She had been crouching in her father’s private greenhouse, fascinated by a strange looking beetle crawling across a fallen leaf.
Then Aaron’s heavy leather boot came out of nowhere, crushing the tiny thing into the dirt with a wet, flat crunch.
"What the fuck?"
Isabella had bolted upright, heat rushing to her face as she glared at him.
The man standing there was striking, but a dangerous, heavy presence seemed to roll right off his broad frame.
Dark tattoos crawled all the way up his throat and across the backs of his hands, stark against his pale skin.
Even in an expensive suit, he looked less like a businessman and more like an executioner, a mocking little smile playing on his lips.
"What is wrong with you?" she had yelled, completely ignoring how dangerous he looked. "You just killed it for no reason!"
Aaron had only chuckled, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "It was a blister beetle, little girl. If it crawled onto your skin, you’d be crying in a hospital right now. I did you a favor."
"You didn’t have to crush it," she had snapped, doubling down, refusing to give him an inch of defeat.
"Every life has a purpose, big or small. I despise people who think they have the right to just eliminate things because they can."
Instead of getting angry, Aaron had let out a low, amused chuckle. He walked closer, his fingers casually brushing a stray rose leaf off her shoulder. "Is that so?"
Get away from me," she had hissed, smacking his hand away.
Aaron’s smile had widened, his gaze dropping to her mouth in a slow, deliberate look that made her skin prickle.
"Well I think some things in this world are born just to be stepped on, Ms. Kingston. But I like a girl with rules. It makes breaking them much more interesting."
She had turned her back on him instantly, disgusted by the blatant flirting and the casual malice in his tone.
"I have business with your father anyway," he murmured teasingly, tilting his head as he watched her stomp away angrily.
"But I’ll be seeing you around. Don’t go saving any more monsters without me."
That terrible first impression had only grown worse when her father later confirmed that Aaron handled the city’s most brutal underground dealings.
Since then, every single time they crossed paths at charity galas, she had been incredibly rude, throwing sharp insults at his face.
And to make matters worse, a year later, Aaron sent a formal marriage proposal to her father’s house.
Isabella of course rejected it instantly, feeling deeply insulted that a criminal leader thought he could own her.
But Aaron never backed down. He only leaned into her hostility, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement every time she shut him down.
Now, the television anchor’s voice dragged her back to reality.
"...confirming his attendance at the upcoming Celestial Opera Gala later this month. The ultra-exclusive event remains the premier gathering for the global elite..."
Isabella gripped her cane tightly. An idea formed in her mind. Aaron was the only one who could make Kian pay. But she had no way to contact him except for the gala.
And the gala was an untouchable social fortress. Not only was the ticket ridiculously expensive, you couldn’t just buy a ticket, you had to be hand-selected by the committee.
Her father had taken her twice before he died.
It was a completely secure environment, the only place she could ever hope to corner Aaron Kazarov without Kian’s spies intercepting her. And according to the anchor, she had less than two weeks to pull it off.
...
That night, the delicious scent of roasted garlic and wine filled the formal dining room.
Isabella sat at the long table, her fork aimlessly pushing food around her plate while the dark, blurred shape of Kian sat across from her.
"Kian?" she said, keeping her voice soft and sweet.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"The Celestial Opera Gala is coming up in two weeks," she murmured, keeping her hands perfectly steady on the table. "Our wedding anniversary is next month, but I know how busy your schedule gets. Could we go to the opera as an early gift? I really want an excuse to dress up and get out of the house."
The clink of Kian’s silverware stopped. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"Bella, those events are incredibly loud and crowded," Kian said, his tone dripping with practiced concern. "With your eyes, I just worry you’ll get overwhelmed or hurt in the crowd."
Isabella forced a small, fragile smile, though her heart was thumping hard against her ribs. "Aria will be there to help me get ready, and I’ll have you and Luke right beside me. Please, Kian. It’s the one thing I’m asking for."
Across the table, Kian stared at her, scanning her face for any hint of suspicion. Finding nothing but her usual compliance, he let out a soft sigh. "All right. If it makes you happy, I’ll arrange the invitations tomorrow."
The next two weeks dragged by like a slow torture. Isabella spent every hour playing the role of the fragile, broken wife, staying in bed and letting Aria bring her tea, while Luke watched her like a hawk from the doorway.
When the night finally arrived, the master bedroom smelled heavily of hairspray and expensive perfume. Aria stood behind Isabella, her old, gentle hands carefully inserting a diamond hairpin into her styled hair.
"You look absolutely beautiful, my lady," Aria whispered, smoothing down the satin fabric of Isabella’s emerald green gown. "Your father would be so proud to see you tonight."
Isabella’s chest tightened with a painful, hollow ache. She looked toward the mirror, but all she could make out was a tall, dark smudge of green against the white walls. She couldn’t even see her own face.
"Thank you, Aria," Isabella said, her voice dropping.
The bedroom door opened, and Kian walked in, the crisp rustle of his tuxedo cutting through the quiet room. "Are you ready, Bella?"
He walked over, his large hands settling onto her bare shoulders. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her neck, right over the spot where her heart was beating like a drum.
"You look breathtaking."
Isabella forced herself to stand perfectly still, her skin growing goosebumps under his touch.
The memory of his shoe pinning her wrist to the floor flashed through her mind, a horrible reminder of the last breath she took but she swallowed the rising fear.
"I’m ready," she said.
The drive to the grand theater was silent and cold. Luke sat in the front passenger seat, his massive, blurred silhouette completely unmoving as he watched the road, occasionally glancing at her through the rearview mirror.
When the car finally stopped, the noise of the crowd and the heavy pops of camera flashes penetrated the thick glass doors. Kian climbed out first, then reached back to guide Isabella onto the red carpet.
She held onto his arm firmly, using her folding cane to feel the edge of the curb as they moved through the exclusive entrance, passing the tight security checkpoints until the loud chaos of the press faded behind them.
Inside, the theater lobby was a massive room of sound. The low voices of hundreds of wealthy voices, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the distant tuning of orchestral violins echoed off the high ceilings.
To Isabella, the entire room was just an image of moving lights and darkness.
"Stay right here, sweetheart," Kian murmured near her ear, his hand lingering on her waist. "The chairman of the logistics board just walked in. I need to greet him quickly. Luke is right behind you."
"Go ahead," Isabella said, keeping her voice level. "I’ll be fine."
The moment Kian went away into the crowd, Isabella felt the heavy, suffocating presence of Luke stepping up to fill the void beside her.
’i have to act now’ she thought. ’If I don’t find Aaron before Kian returns, my only chance at survival would vanish.’
"Luke," she said, turning her head slightly toward his blurred form. "The perfumes and noise is making my head throb. Could you go to the bar and get me a glass of iced water? Please."
Luke hesitated, his shadow shifting uncomfortably. "Mr. Carter told me not to leave your side, madam."
Isabella let her expression drop into a sharp, commanding frown, channeling her father’s authority.
"I am asking for a glass of water, Luke. The bar is twenty feet away. I am not going to run away in a room full of photographers. Go."
After a tense second, the bodyguard let out a low breath of defeat. "Very well. Please stay exactly where you are." His heavy footsteps moved away, blending into the crowd.
Isabella didn’t waste a heartbeat. She turned in the opposite direction, her cane tapping rapidly against the marble floor as she pushed her way into the shifting mass of people, hoping she’s find a staff who could direct her to Aaron.
Her heart pounded wildly against her chest, her breath coming in shallow, terrified gasps as she stumbled against a passing shoulder.
The thick fog made everyone look like ghosts, towering monsters blocking her path.
She needed to find him somehow. She needed to find the one man who could destroy Kian.
She turned a corner toward the private box entrances, her shoes sliding slightly on the polished floor.
Suddenly, her cane struck a heavy obstacle. Her balance failed, her heels catching on the edge of a thick velvet curtain, and she began to tip forward into the darkness.
Before she could hit the floor, a strong hand caught her upper arm, halting her fall instantly as the other hand slid around her waist.
A familiar scent of expensive cologne and dark tobacco filled her nose.
"Well, well," a deep, smooth voice purred right above her ear, vibrating straight through her chest. "If it isn’t the little princess. Still stumbling around where you don’t belong."