Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 156

Isadora met Victor’s gaze, searching the depths of his eyes.

His lashes were dark and thick, casting shadows over irises so deep they seemed almost black, catching flecks of light that shimmered with her delicate reflection.

“Kiss me, Isadora,” Victor murmured.

Without a hint of hesitation, Isadora slipped her arms around his neck.

She leaned in close, pressing gentle kisses across his strong brows, down the elegant bridge of his nose—soft, lingering pecks, one after another.

Finally, her lips found his, leaving her mark there—tender, claiming.

Victor hadn’t expected her to kiss him like this—not with such fervor, not with such abandon.

His eyes darkened, breath catching in his throat; in the quiet darkness of the rooftop, the sound was impossibly loud.

As Isadora started to pull back, Victor’s hand caught her at the nape of her neck, drawing her in. His lips came down on hers, fierce and hungry.

The kiss deepened, turning wild and intoxicating as he tasted her sweetness, teasing and devouring in turns.

They traded soft breaths, each touch leaving Isadora dizzy, lost in his embrace.

Fireworks still bloomed in the night sky, a riot of color above them.

In a shadowed corner of the rooftop, Magnus watched. His eyes burned scarlet, like a wolf’s—fixed on the couple locked in their passionate kiss.

His hands clenched so tightly by his sides that the veins stood out starkly against his skin.

Tonight was Isadora’s birthday party.

Magnus had driven, almost on autopilot, to the Vaughan family estate. But he hadn’t gone inside.

He didn’t want to ruin her happiness on her special day.

On the passenger seat beside him, nearly a dozen cell phones were scattered.

Isadora had blocked his number.

Every time he’d tried to reach out—every message, every call—she never replied.

So he bought more phones. Ten of them. Every time he missed her, he’d send a message from a different number.

Today was her birthday, and Magnus couldn’t help himself; he sent her a simple, “Happy birthday.”

No sooner had he pressed send than Elise called.

He didn’t pick up.

Elise was healthy now. He didn’t need to be by her side anymore.

It hit him then—every year around this time, he’d always left Isadora alone to care for Elise.

For the first time, guilt and self-loathing twisted inside him.

Outside, guests began to drift out of the Vaughan estate, chatting and laughing as they went.

When someone spotted Magnus sitting in his car, the gossip died instantly.

He stepped out, grabbing a guest and demanding to know what had happened that night.

That’s how he learned the truth.

He wanted to rush inside, to protect her.

But then that blinding Lamborghini pulled out of the driveway, Isadora in the passenger seat.

Magnus floored the gas and trailed them all the way here.

Now, watching the woman he once thought was his melt into another man’s arms, kissing him with all the love she used to give him—Magnus felt something tear inside. The pain was physical, like a saw tearing through his chest.

His muscles spasmed, his whole body shaking as if every ounce of strength had been leeched away.

He could see Isadora’s smile, the light in her eyes—affection he’d once known so well.

He saw it all, clear as day.

Magnus had never known jealousy or hatred like this.

All this time, he’d believed she still loved him.