Shit.
I’m already moving before he can say another word.I yank the study door open and stride down the hallway toward the back of the house, my footsteps echoing off the floors.I shove the terrace doors open and step straight out into the storm.
Shards of rain hit me immediately.
It’s cold and brutal.It runs down the back of my neck, into my eyes, and over my mouth.The sky is a churning mass of dark gray clouds, and the wind whips through the garden with enough force to bend the branches of the trees.
I stop at the edge of the terrace, scanning the grounds, my eyes narrowing against the rain.
I don’t see Isabella.
I step off the terrace and head toward the old cypress at the garden’s far edge, the one I know she goes to sometimes when she needs to think.When she needs to be alone.She’s mentioned how much she likes it there.
I head that way fast, my strides long and purposeful.Gravel shifts and crunches under my feet, the sound swallowed by the roar of the rain.Water splashes up my trousers, soaking through the fabric, but I don’t slow.Thunder rolls beyond the trees, a deep, rumbling growl that shakes the air.
I can barely see ten feet ahead of me.Lightning flashes overhead, briefly illuminating the garden in stark white light.
And then I find her sitting on the stone bench, drenched through, her head tipped slightly back, rain pouring over her face as though the sky itself had come down to grieve with her.Her eyes are closed, her lips parted just enough for the water to run over them.She doesn’t move.She just sits there, letting the storm wash over her.
Christ, there’s a kind of beauty in her sadness.The kind that makes my chest ache because I know what it costs her to let it show.Isabella doesn’t break easily.She doesn’t bend.But here, alone in the rain, she’s let herself fracture just enough for me to see the cracks.
Her dress is soaked, clinging to every inch of her, the fabric molded to her body, outlining the curves of her waist, hips, and thighs.Her hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders, dark and heavy with water.Rain tracks down her throat in rivulets, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress.Her hands rest loosely in her lap, palms up, fingers slightly curled, as though she’s holding something invisible.
And even from here, there’s a stillness in her.An emptiness.The way she’s folded in on herself, all that fire and fury reduced to embers.
She looks so fragile that it knocks the breath right out of me because I hate seeing her like this.I hate seeing her so small when she should be taking up every inch of space in a room.
All that fire and fury she had the day I married her… every sharp word, every cutting comeback, every time she looked at me like she wanted to gut me with her eyes, that’s who she is.That’s the woman I know.The one who doesn’t bow.The one who always bites back.
Not this quiet, broken thing sitting in the rain because her own family won’t stop tearing pieces out of her.
I hate the thought of her sitting out here alone, with her brother’s fingerprints still fresh on her skin.I hate that Arturo and Luca Serrano can still reach into my house, past my guards and leave her carrying even a second of this weight.
I would take a thousand of her insults over this silence.A thousand fights.A thousand nights of her hating me, if it meant she still had that fight left in her.
I want to kill anyone who hurts her.Luca first, then Arturo.
I want to drag them both into a room and make them understand what it means to touch what’s mine, to break what I’ve sworn to protect.I want to hear them beg, watch the light leave their eyes, and know they died understanding exactly what they took from her.
But right now, none of that matters.All that matters is her.
She doesn’t notice me at first.The rain muffles the sound of my steps, drowning out everything except the roar of the storm and the distant rumble of thunder.When I finally stop in front of her, she still doesn’t move or open her eyes.
My eyes roam over her beautiful face, taking in every detail.The water streaming down her face, her lashes dark and wet against her cheeks, the paleness of her lips.And then I fucking see it.
The marks along the side of her jaw.Faint purple beneath all that pale, rain-washed beauty.
My vision goes white for one brutal second.Pure, blinding rage floods me, so hot and violent that I have to clench my jaw to keep from roaring into the storm.My hands curl into fists at my sides, every muscle in my body locking tight.I can feel it rising in me.The need to destroy, to tear Luca Serrano apart with my bare hands.
But I push it down and force it back.Bury it deep, where it can wait.Because right now, she needs me, not the monster or the man who wants to burn the world down for her.Just me.I’ll deal with Luca later, when the time is right, when I can do it properly.
“Bella,” I say, my voice low.“What are you doing out here?”
She opens her eyes slowly, blinking against the rain.Her gaze lifts to mine, and for a moment we just stare at each other.Her eyes hold mine—so tired, yet still so fucking strong it hurts to look at her.There’s no surrender in them.Just exhaustion and the weight of carrying too much for too long.
Then she says, “My brother was here.”
I reach out and touch the side of her face, my fingers gentle as I trace the edge of the bruise, near but not quite touching it, as though I could somehow make it disappear with my touch.My thumb brushes over her wet skin.