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Adrian Volkov was already in italy when he got wind of Damian attending the Rossi estate party that evening.
He leaned lazily against the bar of his hotel suite, glass of bourbon in his hand, his lips curling into a cruel smirk.
For weeks he had been tracking Damian's movements—business expansions. Tonight was perfect.
The Rossi estate was swarming with investors, aristocrats, and influential names across Europe.
All Damian's allies, all his competitors, all his enemies under one roof.
And Adrian intended to make sure Damian walked out stained.
He pulled out his phone, making a quick call to one of his men.
"Yes, be ready. When I give the signal, the cameras will roll. I want the entire crowd to see Damian Volkov lose his mask."
He downed his bourbon and set the glass aside, already picturing Damian's cold, composed façade shattering in public.
That bastard always thought he was untouchable. Let's see him bleed tonight.
Hours later, the Rossi estate glimmered under chandeliers and candlelit fountains.
The party was already in full swing when Adrian arrived, dressed immaculately in a tailored black suit, his hair slicked back, his smile dangerous.
He prowled through the crowd, shaking hands, offering fake pleasantries, his eyes scanning for one particular figure. Then—he saw her.
Isabel.
She looked breathtaking as always, wrapped in a velvet emerald dress that hugged every curve, her golden hair styled perfectly.
Men turned their heads when she walked, but she ignored them all. She was searching—for him. For Damian.
Adrian's smirk deepened.
He adjusted his cufflinks and began walking toward her, cutting through the crowd like a predator closing in on prey.
"Isabel," he drawled smoothly when he was close enough, his voice dripping with mocking familiarity.
She stiffened instantly, her posture tightening.
For a second, she pretended not to hear him, turning her face away.
Adrian's smirk sharpened. He stepped closer, blocking her path.
"Come now, don't act like you don't remember me."
"Move," she hissed under her breath, her eyes flashing with annoyance.
"I don't want to be seen with you."
But Adrian only chuckled, leaning in just enough so his words brushed against her ear.
"Funny. That's not what you said the last time we were together."
Her eyes widened, panic flashing for a moment before she schooled her face into indifference.
"That was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Adrian laughed softly, low enough that only she could hear.
"You didn't call it a mistake when you were moaning my name while Damian was pounding at the door."
Her cheeks flushed hot with humiliation and rage. "Stop."
"Oh, I can stop." Adrian tilted his head, his grin wicked. "But you and I both know the truth.
Damian caught us that night, didn't he? The look on his face when he realized his precious first love was fucking his cousin.
Priceless."
Isabel's nails dug into her clutch, her chest rising and falling sharply. People were beginning to glance their way, sensing the tension.
Adrian straightened, his voice dripping with mockery now loud enough for anyone passing by to overhear.
"Don't run away, Isabel. Or have you forgotten who taught you how to betray the man you claimed to love?"
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously across the crowd. Damian wasn't here yet—but if he arrived and overheard…
Adrian gave her one last wolfish grin and stepped back, adjusting his cufflinks again. "Enjoy the party, darling"
With that, he walked away smoothly, blending back into the glittering crowd, leaving Isabel frozen in place, her face pale beneath her perfect makeup.
She gripped her champagne glass so tightly it nearly shattered. Damn him. Damn both of them.
The scent of expensive perfume and cigars mixed with champagne-filled laughter.
As Damian entered the grand ballroom, every head turned.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, sharp lines cutting across his broad frame, his presence like a storm cloud moving into a glittering sky.
Women gasped, whispering behind jeweled fans, stiffened, their pride shrinking beside his aura.
Every girl there wanted him. Every man either envied him or feared him.
But Damian's face was ice, his expression untouchable.
He moved with a predator's calm, his secretary trailing at his side, holding a tablet and murmuring updates about investors waiting to meet him.
And then—Isabel.
She broke through the crowd in her emerald gown, her smile painted perfectly, her eyes bright with possession.
"You look so handsome, my love," she purred, her hand reaching for his arm as though she had the right to claim him.
Damian didn't even look at her. He stepped forward, his pace unbroken, his eyes fixed on the investors ahead.
To him, Isabel was nothing more than background noise.
Her hand slipped awkwardly from the air, her cheeks burning, but she quickened her steps, forcing herself at his side.
"Damian," she whispered again, desperate. "Don't ignore me."
He didn't glance her way. His silence cut deeper than any insult. To the watching crowd, it was as though she didn't exist at all.
Isabel clenched her fists at her side, humiliated.
The memory of hours ago—the heat, the moment she thought she had him back—was shredded to nothing by his indifference.
He walked like a man who had never touched her, as if she was a stranger.
Damian reached the cluster of investors waiting for him. His voice shifted, smooth and commanding as he discussed contracts, acquisitions, and power plays.
His secretary typed furiously, noting every figure and condition.
But then he saw Adrian.
Across the room, his cousin leaned lazily against the bar, a glass of wine in hand, his grin devilish and taunting.
Their eyes locked, and Adrian tilted his glass mockingly in salute.
Damian's jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing to the watching crowd.
He inclined his head politely to an investor, but his cold gaze slid back to Adrian.
Adrian's smirk only widened.
***
Elena sat at the long dining table with Irina and the grandfather, silver cutlery glinting under the chandelier's warm glow.
The evening had been filled with laughter, stories, and little touches of nostalgia.
Irina had brought out her old photo albums, pointing at pictures of Damian as a boy—his scowls even as a child, his quietness, the way he always stood apart from others.
Grandfather chuckled loudly, adding his own memories, stories of when Damian was too stubborn to admit he liked sweets but would sneak cookies from the jar at night.
Elena chuckled until her chest ached, tears pricking at her eyes.
The atmosphere felt so familiar, so homely—it brought back memories of dinners with her own parents, of her mother's laughter and her father's occasional smile before life had hardened him.
She lowered her gaze to her plate, smiling softly but blinking quickly before her emotions spilled over.
Irina, sharp-eyed and gentle, reached across the table to squeeze her hand.
"My dear, you are family now. Always remember that."
Elena nodded, biting her lip to hold back tears, and whispered, "Thank you."
The mansion, the warmth, the laughter—it all wrapped around her like a blanket.
For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn't a prisoner of her circumstances. She felt… wanted.