"Thank you, beautiful sister!" the twin boys chirped together, their sandy hands waving in excitent. Isabella’s eyes widened, and a soft pink blush rose to her cheeks.
She stood up slowly, brushing the sand off her knees, the breeze playing with the hem of her red strap dress.
"Aww... it wasn’t possible without your guidance," she said sweetly, bowing slightly like she was thanking royal engineers.
The boys giggled, and she smiled before giving them a little wave.
"Bye-bye." They waved back enthusiastically as she turned and began walking toward the water.
The beach was quiet in that mont, soft waves rolling, people scattered far enough not to crowd her peace. The sand felt warm beneath her feet, but the mont she stepped closer, the salty, cold ocean water kissed her toes, sending a tiny shiver up her legs.
She paused there, standing where the waves t the shore, her arms lightly wrapped around herself. Her eyes fluttered shut. For a few seconds, she let the breeze, the sound of the ocean, and the cool water anchor her heart.
After standing by the waves for a while, letting the cool water touch her toes and the wind kiss her skin, Isabella took a deep breath and unlocked her phone.
She opened the cara and began taking a few quiet pictures.
Sothing about saving the mont made her feel a little more real, a little less lost.
Then, she tapped open her maps app and searched her location. Marinova, City J.
Her eyes widened. Her fingers paused. That na—Marinova—she rembered it clearly.
Her old hacker friend, SyntaxQueen, once told her she lived here. "If you’re ever in City J, tell . I’ll et you. We could finally talk outside the screen."
Isabella blinked at the mory, her heart racing. A tiny flicker of excitent rose in her chest... and then quickly turned into doubt.
She hesitated. Should I et her? What if she sees and realizes I’m not cool like I sound online? What if I disappoint her? She sighed softly and shook her head, brushing the thought away for now. Maybe later.
She tucked her phone back into her bag and wandered through the streets near the beach.
That’s when she found it—a cute little restaurant with warm lights and pastel-colored walls. Her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day, so she walked inside quietly.
The nu confused her, and her shyness bubbled up again. She fumbled with the nas, unsure what to order, until a kind middle-aged waitress ca to her rescue, smiling gently and guiding her through the dishes.
Isabella finally ordered sothing simple and warm rice with spiced vegetables, a soft bread roll, and fresh li soda. She ate slowly, alone in a corner booth, trying to enjoy each bite. The food tasted better than she expected.
Before leaving, she paid online, bowed politely to the waitress, and walked out into the sunlight again.
Isabella didn’t feel like going back to the villa. The idea of returning to that cold silence, where she felt invisible between Leonardo’s work and his friends, only made her chest ache.
So instead, she wandered through the narrow streets near the beach until she stumbled upon a quiet little bookstore tucked between two cafés.
She stepped inside and was imdiately wrapped in the sll of old pages and soft wood. For hours, she stayed there—sitting cross-legged in a corner seat, flipping through poetry, short stories, and one novel that nearly made her cry by page thirty.
She read until the golden evening light poured through the glass, warming her skin and calming her heart. It was the first day she’d truly enjoyed her own company.
But when she returned to the villa and stepped up to the front door, sothing felt wrong. Lights. Music. Laughter. Her eyes narrowed. The windows glowed softly, and she heard the thump of bass and the clinking of glass from inside. Confused, she checked the villa number again, even stepped back a little to make sure she wasn’t at the wrong place.
No—this was it.
Her villa.
She slowly pushed the door open... and her heart stopped.
The villa’s once calm, elegant interior had been transford into a private party lounge.
The open living room had been rearranged, furniture pushed back to create a wide dance floor, where colored lights spun slowly above like a club.
Portable LED spotlights were set at the corners, flashing soft blue and purple beams across the walls.
The bar had been set up across the long marble kitchen counter—decorated with silver trays, rows of alcohol bottles, and little golden lights wrapped around the shelves behind it.
Loud music pulsed through hidden speakers, and laughter echoed off the glossy floors.
Alexa was near the center of the room, dressed in a sleek silver dress, her curls bouncing as she moved from guest to guest, clearly playing the role of hostess with pride.
Alan was lounging casually on a couch near the bar, a drink in hand, talking to soone with a low smile. Casper was already dancing—wildly and carelessly with a girl Isabella didn’t know.
Zion sat near one of the open glass doors, a drink untouched in his hand, watching evrything in silence.
Isabella stood frozen just inside the doorway.
And the worst part?
There was no sign of Leonardo.
The air slled of perfu and expensive alcohol, the music still buzzing faintly in the background. All around her, won wore fitted dresses that hugged their curves, silky fabrics that shimred under the lights—while she stood there in her simple red sundress, cute but childish compared to the glamour around her.
She tugged at the hem, already feeling out of place. Just when she hoped to quietly disappear, Alexa’s voice pierced through the noise—sharp and fake sweet. "Hey, hey guys! Isn’t everyone waiting to et Leo’s wife?" she called out, her hands clapping as she smiled wickedly.
"Well, here she is!"
The music stopped. Laughter stopped. And every single face in that room turned toward Isabella. Her breath hitched. She felt bare under their eyes like she’d been thrown onto a stage without warning.
A girl in a tight red dress whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Haha... is Leo blind?"
Another one chid in with a scoff, "She’s not even that pretty. That brown hair looks like it ca out of a cheap dye box." Isabella stood frozen, her lips slightly parted, her fingers clutching her handbag tighter.
Her cheeks burned, her chest felt tight, and for a mont—it was like she forgot how to breathe.
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