Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 503

Isadora’s eyes sparkled, bright and lively, shimmering like starlight dancing across a midnight lake. Her lips curved as she broke into a radiant smile.

She teased, “Mr. Fitzgerald, if we don’t hurry, city hall will close for the day.”

Victor paused, then a subtle smile played on his lips, his dark eyes softening with warmth.

He reached for her hand, and together they started toward city hall, each step measured and sincere.

His tall, upright figure cast a broad shadow that enveloped her completely, as if to say that no matter what lay ahead, he would shield her from it all.

Their palms pressed together, warm and slightly clammy; it was impossible to tell whose nervousness was whose.

Suddenly, a thought struck Isadora. She tugged him to a stop.

Victor turned, a hint of concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Isadora bit her lip. “Before we register, shouldn’t we sign a prenup or something?”

After all, their difference in wealth was pretty significant.

If—well, if they ever divorced, she’d be entitled to half his fortune.

Victor’s voice dropped, low and serious. “Isadora, where do you come up with these ridiculous ideas, hmm?”

She could hear the annoyance in his tone and stuck out her tongue playfully. “Just making sure. Didn’t want you to say I never warned you.”

The next instant, his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close until she was pressed firmly against him.

Above her, his voice rang out, steady and certain, each word deliberate. “Listen to me, Isadora. In this life, unless I die, there’s no way we’ll ever be apart.”

…

They entered city hall, took a numbered ticket from the machine, and walked over to window number eight.

Victor handed over their documents.

As the flash went off, Victor’s left hand instinctively found Isadora’s right. Both of them beamed at the camera.

Click. The moment was captured.

For an instant, it felt as if time had paused just for them.

Ten minutes later, Isadora picked up the finished photo from the photographer.

She ran her slender fingers over the glossy print, tracing every detail of that small, red-tinted picture.

In the photo, the two of them leaned close together, their smiles bright and genuine—a perfect pair.

Isadora had seen plenty of Victor’s smiles: gentle ones, teasing ones, coolly reserved, mischievous, or aristocratic.