Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 192

The security guard caught sight of the coupe’s license plate and immediately swung open the gates to the community.

The car glided through without a hitch and pulled straight into its reserved parking space.

Isadora had never been here before.

But she knew enough. Summit Crest Estates wasn’t just famously expensive—having money didn’t even guarantee you a place here. Every resident was either someone of extraordinary status or a high-ranking official. In Capitolion, this was the very top of the social food chain.

Families like the Vaughans—third or fourth-tier old money—couldn’t even dream of getting so much as a foot in the door.

The coupe rolled to a stop, and the passenger door swung open from the outside.

Isadora was still sitting there, a little stunned.

Victor stood by the open door, one hand in his pocket, eyelids half-lowered as he glanced at her. “Miss Vaughan, do I need to carry you upstairs?”

She frowned, but climbed out of the car on her own.

After swiping a keycard for the private elevator, they shot straight up to the sixty-sixth floor—the very top. Each floor had only one apartment, but there were six elevators. The luxury was almost overwhelming.

Isadora followed Victor inside.

She was surprised.

The penthouse wasn’t the cold, sterile space she’d imagined. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the living room, flooding it with light. Beyond the balcony stretched a long, emerald-green pool. A pale, creamy sofa dominated the center of the room, and the open kitchen was a soothing mix of gray and white. The whole place had a warm, inviting feel.

Victor tossed the keycard and car keys onto the counter, walked straight to the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water.

“What is this place?” Isadora asked.

Victor tipped his head back and drained the bottle. In the quiet, dim light, the low sound of his swallowing felt oddly intimate.

He finished, then fixed his dark gaze on her—still standing near the door. His eyes were sharp and unreadable, probing, almost as if he was trying to see beneath her skin. Finally, his expression settled into a thoughtful, inscrutable shadow.

“Isadora, why don’t you want to live with me?”

She turned away, uneasy. “I… It’s not that. Nanette’s been a mess lately. She’s still upset about what happened with that jerk who framed her. I just want to be there for her.”