Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 167

Waltz partner exchanges happened from time to time—it was all part of the dance. For the men, it wasn’t just about knowing the steps; it was a subtle contest, a way to show off skill and confidence to anyone watching.

The energy in the ballroom spiked again as the crowd watched the Capitolion heir glide effortlessly across the floor, leading his beautiful new partner with practiced ease. Applause broke out in waves, filling the room with excitement.

Isadora breathed in the familiar, cool scent of pine that clung to Victor. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, but now, here he was—close enough to touch. Unlike before, when she’d danced with Magnus at arm’s length, Victor now held her for real, guiding her through the waltz as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Her heart gave two erratic jolts as Victor’s hand pressed firmly against her waist, his other hand entwined with hers, leading her steps in perfect time with the music. He lowered his gaze, fixing her with an intense look as he asked in a low, almost teasing voice, “So, is this the personal space you wanted?”

Meanwhile, Mary, only just realizing she’d been switched to a new partner, was dumbfounded. It hit her—Victor had only asked her to dance as an excuse to swap partners. He’d used her, and she’d never even seen it coming.

Oh my god! How had she, the daughter of the M Boutique family, let herself get played like that? Sure, Wainwright was attractive enough, but he just wasn’t her type.

Across the room, Magnus’s eyes were locked onto Victor’s hand at Isadora’s waist. The sight dragged up memories of a night he’d tried desperately to forget, and now a storm of jealousy and frustration churned inside him. But there was nothing he could do.

Neither Isadora nor Magnus really cared about the dance anymore; they simply let muscle memory and the familiar rhythm of the music carry them through the rest of the waltz.

Isadora opened her mouth, wanting to explain, but the words caught. What was the point? Victor, sensing her silence, tightened his arm around her waist and spoke in a low, rough tone, “Answer me.”

Pressed close against his solid frame, Isadora felt her cheeks burn. Furious and flustered, she managed to say, “You’ve got it all wrong.”

Victor looked down at her, the ballroom lights casting sharp shadows across his face, his dark eyes unreadable. He stayed silent for several agonizing seconds, and Isadora felt her heart lurch under his gaze. She knew Victor—arrogant, reckless, never caring who was watching or what anyone else thought.