Isabella:Love And Vengeance

I stood in front of my closet, staring at the hangers as if they might magically assemble themselves into the perfect outfit. The collection of clothes wasn't much—a mix of thrift store treasures, hand-me-downs, and the occasional retail splurge when I could afford it. Tonight, though, nothing seemed right.

"Come on, Isabella," I muttered, pulling out a plain red dress and holding it up against myself in the mirror. "Nope. Too much."

I tossed it aside and tried a floral one next. "Too… daytime."

Time was slipping away, and my nerves were unraveling. Alexander Harrington, with his effortless charm and aura of refinement, wasn't the kind of man you went to dinner with wearing just anything. He was the kind of man who deserved effort—serious effort.

Finally, I landed on a simple black dress. It wasn't overly fancy, but the cut flattered my figure, and it had just enough elegance to feel appropriate. Pairing it with my only pair of heels and a delicate silver necklace I'd inherited from my mother, I took a deep breath and assessed myself in the mirror.

"You clean up well," I murmured to my reflection, though the knots in my stomach weren't convinced.

A knock at the door startled me. Alexander was here. My heart leapt as I grabbed my bag, checked my lipstick one last time, and opened the door.

And there he was.

He looked impossibly dashing, his navy blazer tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath it open just enough at the collar to be casually charming. His blue eyes swept over me, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"You look stunning," he said, his voice warm.

"Thank you," I replied, feeling my cheeks heat. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He chuckled, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

The restaurant he chose was unexpected in the best way. It wasn't a flashy, over-the-top establishment meant to flaunt wealth. Instead, it was intimate, with soft lighting and a cozy, understated elegance. A pianist in the corner filled the air with delicate notes, and the warm, savory scents of expertly prepared food made my stomach rumble.

"This place is beautiful," I said as the hostess led us to a table tucked into a quiet corner.

Alexander pulled out my chair for me before sitting across the table, a small smile on his face. "I'm glad you like it. I thought you might appreciate something a little quieter."

He was right. It was perfect.

The menus arrived, and as I skimmed the dishes, I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. Truffle this, foie gras that—half the items were things I'd only read about in magazines.

"Don't let the menu scare you," Alexander said, a playful glint in his eye. "I promise the food here is worth it."

I laughed, setting the menu down. "I'm not sure I even know how to pronounce half of these dishes."

"Let's make it simple," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Do you trust me to order for us?"

There was something about the way he asked—confident but not overbearing, as if he genuinely cared about my comfort. I nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."

When the waiter returned, Alexander rattled off a series of orders that sounded like they came straight from a culinary dream. By the time the first course arrived, I was both starving and curious.

"So," I said as we began eating, "what's the story behind Alexander Harrington?"

He paused, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "That's a loaded question."

"I'm serious," I said, smiling. "You clearly didn't just stumble into being… well, you."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Let's see—I grew up in New York, the son of a businessman and an artist. My father wanted me to take over his company one day, but my mother wanted me to follow my passions. It made for an interesting childhood."

"And which parent won?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled. "Both, I suppose. I ended up taking over my father's company, but I try to approach it with my mother's creativity."

I nodded, impressed. "That's not a bad balance."

"What about you?" he asked, his gaze curious. "What's the story behind Isabella Carter?"

"Oh, it's not nearly as glamorous," I said, waving a hand.

"Try me," he said, leaning forward slightly.

I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "I grew up in Hectorspruit. It's a small town, not much happens there. My dad left when I was little, and my mom… well, let's just say she had her struggles. I've been on my own for a while now."

Alexander's expression softened. "That must have been hard."

"It was," I admitted. "But it taught me to be independent. To rely on myself."

He nodded, his blue eyes meeting mine. "That's a rare quality. I admire that."

His words sent a warmth through me, and I found myself smiling despite the vulnerability of the moment.

As the courses continued, so did our conversation. We talked about everything—our favorite books, movies, even childhood dreams. He shared stories about his travels, and I found myself laughing at his tales of mishaps in foreign countries.

"You, stranded in Paris with no luggage?" I said, laughing. "I can't picture it."

"It was quite the sight," he admitted, chuckling. "I had to buy a pair of shoes that didn't fit, and I spent the entire trip with blisters."

"Well, if nothing else, you probably looked stylish," I teased.

He grinned. "That's one way to look at it."

The evening felt effortless, like we'd known each other for years instead of hours. By the time dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate soufflé—I was completely captivated.

The night was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

As we left the restaurant, Alexander's hand lightly rested on my lower back, guiding me toward his car. I felt like I was floating, my cheeks aching from smiling so much.

And then I saw her.

Aunt Linda.

She was standing near the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. My stomach dropped.

Maybe she wouldn't see me. Maybe she'd just—

"Isabella Carter!"

Her voice rang out, sharp and accusing. I froze, dread pooling in my chest.

Alexander glanced at me, his brows furrowing in concern. "Is everything alright?"

Before I could answer, Aunt Linda was storming toward us. Her eyes flicked to Alexander, then back to me, and her expression twisted into one of disdain.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice loud enough to draw stares.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"And who is this?" she continued, her gaze narrowing on Alexander.

"Aunt Linda, please—"

"Don't you 'please' me," she snapped. "You're just like your mother, aren't you? Chasing after men twice your age, throwing yourself at anyone who'll have you."

Her words hit like a slap. I felt the blood drain from my face as shame and anger churned inside me.

Alexander stepped forward, his expression calm but firm. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, his voice steady. "I don't believe you have the right to speak to Isabella that way."

"Oh, don't you?" Linda sneered, her gaze darting back to me. "You've got him fooled, don't you? Playing the sweet, innocent act while you—"

"That's enough," Alexander said, his tone cutting through her tirade.

Linda faltered, clearly unprepared for his commanding presence.

"With all due respect," he continued, his blue eyes locking onto hers, "you don't know Isabella as well as you think you do. She's intelligent, kind, and far more dignified than your accusations suggest."

Linda glared at him, but for once, she seemed at a loss for words.

"If you'll excuse us," Alexander said, turning to me, "shall we?"

I nodded mutely, letting him guide me away. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to keep moving, tears stinging my eyes.

We didn't speak until we were in his car. The silence was heavy, and I kept my gaze fixed on my hands, too embarrassed to look at him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered finally.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said gently.

"But she—"

"She was out of line," he interrupted, his voice firm. "And her words don't define you."

I glanced at him, his steady gaze meeting mine. "Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Because you deserve kindness," he said simply.

His words broke something in me. I blinked back tears, the weight of the evening beginning to lift.

As he drove me home, I couldn't help but glance at him, the warmth of his presence calming me.

When he pulled up outside my apartment, he turned to me, his expression soft. "I had a wonderful time tonight," he said.

"So did I," I admitted, my cheeks warming.

"I'd like to see you again," he said, his gaze steady.

I smiled, the pain of the evening fading under his kindness. "I'd like that too."

As I stepped out of the car and into the cool night air, I glanced back. Alexander was still watching me, his blue eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place.

Hope, perhaps.

Or maybe something deeper.

One thing was certain: tonight had changed everything.