Page 46 of Twisted Vows

The car ride was suffocatingly silent.

Isla sat rigid in the backseat, her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. The weight of her decision pressed against her chest like a vice. She wasn’t the same woman her father had sent away, the same pawn in a game of power and blood. She had changed. And she wasn’t coming back to be controlled.

The men flanking her didn’t speak, but their presence was a constant reminder of where she was headed. Back to her father. Back to the man who had betrayed her, who had tried to erase her existence the moment she became inconvenient. But Isla wasn’t walking into his world as a prisoner. She was walking in as a storm.

The car slowed as it pulled through the gates of an isolated villa, the headlights illuminating the stone walls and iron-barred windows. A prison disguised as a home. The moment the car stopped, one of the men yanked the door open, grabbing Isla’s arm to pull her out. She didn’t fight, didn’t resist. Not yet.

She took in the surroundings carefully, memorizing details—the way the guards were stationed, the paths leading away from the house, any possible exits. Matteo would come. She just had to be ready when he did.

Her father stood at the top of the stairs leading into the house, waiting, his expression unreadable. He examined her with a cool gaze, as if assessing her worth. "You made the right choice coming back."

She met his stare, steel in her spine. "I didn’t come back for you."

Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening for just a second before smoothing out. "Then why are you here, Isla? Do you expect Matteo to come storming in after you? Do you think he will burn everything down for you?"

She didn’t answer. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing Matteo was already out there, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. She could feel it.

Leonardo gestured toward the entrance, his men tightening their hold on her arms. "Come inside. Let’s talk."

Isla let them drag her forward, her heart hammering as she stepped into the house. The interior was as cold as she remembered—high ceilings, dark wood, polished floors that reflected the dim chandelier light. It was meant to look regal, to inspire power, but all she saw was a hollow palace built on betrayal.

They led her up the grand staircase, the same one she had walked down countless times as a child. It felt like a lifetime ago. She was no longer the girl who had once belonged here. She didn’t belong anywhere but beside the man she had chosen.

Leonardo walked ahead, his footsteps slow and deliberate. When they reached the top of the stairs, he finally turned to face her. "Matteo won’t save you this time."

She tilted her head, a small smirk playing at her lips despite the circumstances. "Who said I need saving?"

Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You don’t have a future with him, Isla. Matteo will never choose you over power. He will always choose himself."

She let out a quiet laugh, the sound bitter. "You act like I don’t know who he is. Like I haven’t seen every dark, violent part of him. And yet, I still chose him over you. What does that tell you?"

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he motioned to his men. "Take her inside."

That was his mistake.

Isla moved before they could react. She drove her elbow into the closest man’s gut, grabbed the knife from his belt, and sliced through the other’s arm before he could grab her. In the chaos,she turned, launching herself at her father, pressing the blade against his throat.

Leonardo froze, his breath steady despite the cold steel at his skin. "You think you can win this?"

Isla leaned in, her voice low, sharp. "I already have."

Gunfire erupted in the distance.

Matteo.

The villa lit up with chaos as bullets tore through the night. Isla didn’t hesitate. She shoved her father back, knocking him off balance, and ran. She sprinted down the stairs, weaving through the panicked men scrambling for weapons. She had known, deep in her bones, that Matteo would come. That he would never let her be taken away.

Because he had never left her side to begin with. She knew it deep inside.

She reached the front entrance just as the doors burst open.

Matteo stood there, his gun raised, his suit streaked with blood. His eyes locked onto hers, burning with something deeper than possession. Something raw. Something inevitable.

Relief crashed over her like a wave.

She ran to him, her body colliding with his as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in as if he could fuse them together. His breath was ragged, his hold tight, his fingers digging into her skin as if she might disappear again.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as if grounding himself in her presence. "You came back," he murmured, his voice rough, strained with something he wasn’t used to showing—relief.

---