Chapter 4: Opera
Isabella knew his touch before he even spoke. The sheer, solid weight of his arms was the only steady thing in the blurry room.
Aaron looked down at her.
His piercing blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second before that familiar, mocking look took over.
"I’ll be damned," he muttered, his deep voice vibrating right against her ribs. "I haven’t seen you since your father’s funeral. What’s the matter? Did your lovely husband get tired of playing caretaker, or did you just lose him in the crowd?"
Her heart slammed against her rib, but she didn’t fire back an insult like she usually would.
Instead, her fingers frantically dug into the hidden fold of her green gown, pulling out a small, crumpled square of paper.
Before the gala, she had spent hours alone in her room forcing her hands to scratch out those clumsy, uneven letters, relying entirely on muscle memory.
Before Aaron could say anything else, Isabella grabbed his large hand and shoved the paper straight into his palm, curling his fingers over it.
Aaron froze. His smirk vanished, his grip tightening around the note as his sharp gaze drilled into her face.
"Get your bloody hands off my wife!"
A heavy force ripped Isabella backward.
Kian’s fingers dug painfully into her bare shoulder as he hauled her against his chest, his breathing agitated and hot against her hair.
The possessive way he held her used to make her feel safe. Now, it felt more like a noose.
Aaron didn’t even move an inch.
He slowly slipped his hand into his tuxedo pocket, looking at Kian with a quiet disgust.
To a syndicate leader like Aaron, Kian was just a low-born thief playing dress-up in a dead man’s company. And the thief was currently married to the woman he wanted.
"Relax, Carter," Aaron said, his tone lazy and dripping with an arrogance that made Kian instantly stiffen.
"Your wife stumbled over her dress. I was just keeping her from breaking her neck. Though, I suppose a real man would have been watching her instead of leaving her alone in a room full of strangers."
The jab landed perfectly. Isabella felt Kian’s entire body turn rigid, his muscles flexing as he took a step forward. "What did you just say?" Kian hissed.
Sensing the growing murmurs and impending explosion, Isabella quickly threw herself between them, her hands spreading across Kian’s chest to hold him back.
"Kian, please, don’t," she pleaded, forcing her voice to sound frightened and disgusted as she turned away from Aaron. "He’s disgusting. Just take me away from him. I want to go to our box right now."
Kian glared over her head at Aaron for one more agonizing second, but the demand from his wife gave him a small sense of victory.
He wrapped a tight arm around her waist and pulled her down the corridor, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.
Behind them, Aaron stood perfectly still in the dim hallway, watching the green smudge of her dress until it vanished around the corner.
Only then did he pull the crumpled paper from his pocket, his thumb brushing over the messy handwriting.
"Oh?... Well this is interesting."
...
Inside the private opera box, the heavy velvet curtain shut out the noise of the crowd, but the silence inside was worse. Kian paced the small floor, the anger from before still radiating off him.
"Where were you going, Isabella?" Kian snapped, his voice heavy with suspicion. "I told you to wait by the lobby. Why did you run off into the halls alone?"
Isabella shrank back into her velvet seat, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, letting a tear slip down her cheek. "My stomach started hurting so badly, Kian. I was just trying to find the restroom, but everything is so blurry. I got lost and panicked."
Kian stopped pacing. He let out a long breath, the anger draining from him as he realized he had raised his voice.
He crossed the room and knelt before her, taking her cold hands in his. "I’m sorry, Bella. I shouldn’t have snapped. I just... I get terrified when you disappear like that. You can’t see, sweetheart. Anything could happen to you out there."
The reminder of her helplessness felt like a knife in her chest, but she nodded along.
Kian leaned closer, his shadow blocking out the faint light as he reached up to cup her jaw, tilting her face up to kiss her.
A wave of pure revulsion crashed over her.
Before his lips could touch hers, Isabella turned her head sharply, and his mouth brushed uselessly against her cheek.
She quickly grabbed his hands, pulling him toward the empty chair beside her. "The music is starting, Kian," she said, her voice strained. "Let’s just sit down and listen."
Kian froze, his expression going blank for a second.
Isabella had never rejected his kiss before.
Even when they fought, she always wanted him close.
A cold, uneasy knot twisted in his stomach, but he forced himself to dismiss it.
She’s just sick and overwhelmed, he thought, settling into the seat beside her.
As the orchestra music started from the stage below, Kian tried to enjoy the night, leaning in to describe the singers and the golden backdrops into her ear.
Isabella nodded and smiled on cue, but her mind was entirely detached, floating in complete fear.
Suddenly, Kian’s voice trailed off. His gaze left the stage, tracking across the grand theater to the private box directly opposite theirs.
Through his small opera glasses, he saw Aaron Kazarov sitting alone in the shadows.
Aaron wasn’t looking at the stage. He had his glasses pointed directly on Isabella.
When Kian lowered his lenses to glare back, Aaron merely offered a lazy, mocking smirk, raising his champagne glass in a silent toast.
’Fucking bastard’
Kian’s blood boiled with a wild fury.
He knew Aaron has always looked down on him and not only that but he also has his eyes on his wife.
The moment the curtains closed on the final act, Kian practically dragged Isabella out of the theater and into the back of the sedan.
The long drive back to the estate was silent and suffocating.
When the car pulled up to the grand entryway, Isabella was still drowning in her own anxiety. Would Aaron help her? Or would he hand her note straight to Kian just to watch her burn?
He was her only option left. If he refused then how would she even continue?
Before Isabella could even find her cane, the car door flew open.
Kian didn’t give her a choice. He reached into the back seat and swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of the car and into the large, sprawling mansion.
"Kian, what are you doing?" she gasped, her fingers clutching his shoulders out of pure reflex.
"You looked too beautiful tonight, Bella," Kian muttered, his voice thick with a sudden, aggressive heat as he marched up the grand staircase. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you during the entire show. I need you tonight."
Isabella’s stomach turned over with nausea.
Since her rebirth, she had managed to avoid having sex with him, but she was running out of excuses.
He kicked the bedroom door open and tossed her gently onto the heavy mattress, his hands immediately grabbing her ankles.
He dragged her heels off, tossing the expensive shoes to the floor with loud thuds.
Kian dropped to his knees, pressing rough, heavy kisses against her ankles, his hands sliding up her satin dress to grip her bare thighs.
The old Isabella would have melted into his embrace, weeping with gratitude for his love. But now, as his hot breath hit her skin, she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
Kian crawled up her body, his heavy frame pinning her down as he reached for the zipper of her gown.
He leaned down to her mouth, but Isabella bolted upright, pressing her hands hard against his shoulders to push him away.
"Stop! Kian, please, stop," she cried out, her voice breaking. "My stomach... I told you, I’m really sick. I can’t do this tonight. Please."