Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 378

Isadora caught a glimpse of Terrell's hand out of the corner of her eye.

She instinctively angled her body away, just a little, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Terrell's large hand hovered in the air for a moment before he slowly withdrew it. A trace of disappointment flickered across his face.

"Don't worry," he said softly. "Tomorrow's press conference will go just fine."

"Thank you," Isadora replied quietly.

Terrell's gentle expression quickly returned, and he teased, "If you keep thanking me, I'll have to start charging interest."

Summit Crest Estates.

Isadora made up an excuse about needing to work late at the office to prepare for tomorrow's press conference, opting not to go home to see Eleanor.

Partly, she didn't want Eleanor to worry. But mostly, she was afraid Eleanor would realize she still hadn't gotten in touch with Victor.

Being at Summit Crest Estates, she could almost feel Victor's presence lingering in the rooms.

Isadora sat curled up on the bed, arms hugging her knees as she stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the dazzling city lights, lost in thought.

The press conference was tomorrow.

And she still hadn't heard a word from Victor.

It wasn't so much fear of what would happen tomorrow that gnawed at her—it was worry.

Worry that something had happened to Victor.

Ever since the Fitzgerald Group's European plant had run into trouble, it was obvious that someone overseas was deliberately targeting them.

Isadora absently touched the sapphire bracelet on her wrist and murmured, "Victor, where are you?"

"You still haven't asked me what kind of wedding I want. Come home and I'll tell you, alright?"

Normally, the apartment never felt too big. But tonight, the silent darkness seemed to press in on her from every side, swallowing up the familiar warmth.

She tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.

After a while, Isadora finally gave up. She threw back the covers and got up.

She went to the closet, opened the door, and took out one of Victor's black dress shirts.

Returning to bed, she clutched the shirt tightly to her chest.

It was freshly laundered—no trace of his scent remained.

But somehow, holding it, her heart felt steadier.