Page 49 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

On the first night Isabella came back, my husband chose to be with her.

Chapter 13

Kiryan

After the banquet broke up, I didn't go back to the manor. I went to the office.

A few hours earlier, I'd had my security park Isabella in my office. Now I rode the elevator up, ready to face a past that should've stayed dead.

The office lights were off. Isabella sat alone in the dark, the kind of sight that made pity creep in before you could stop it. When the lights snapped on, she blinked like she'd finally come back to herself and looked at me.

"You're finally back." She sprang up from the couch. "I thought—"

"Why did you leave back then?"

That kiss tonight had come out of nowhere, too fast, too damn unexpected. I'd barely dodged it. I'd told myself she was never coming back. She'd been fine in Europe—hell, she'd probably forgotten me. So I'd forced myself to let it go, to accept a new life for real.

And now she'd walked back in and wrecked all of it.

She didn't answer. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Look at me, Isabella." I gripped her shoulders. "Why did you disappear without leaving me a single word?"

Her hazel eyes swam with tears. Even like that, she held her neck and back straight, like she refused to fall apart all the way.

"I didn't want you to feel guilty. I didn't leave because I didn't love you." Her voice shook. "I left because I loved you too much. I couldn't stay and watch you choose someone else."

I said nothing.

"I thought about you every day." She bit her lower lip, like her pride finally ran out. "I kept telling myself if I came back, you'd hate me even more. But I was more scared I'd never see you again. So I came back anyway."

"But you didn't suffer without me." I stepped back half a pace and stared her down. "My people checked. Paris. Milan. Nice. Bars, yachts, private parties—every damn day."

It hit her like a slap. The color drained from her face.

"What you saw was what people wanted you to see."

"So the pictures were fake? The booze you drank and the parties you hit were fake too?" I didn't raise my voice, but the facts landed heavy.

"Alcohol helps me sleep!" Her voice shot up, then fell to a rasp. "Those parties give me a few hours where I don't have to hear your name in my head. Everyone thinks I am having the time of my life because I can't tell them my own little sister shoved me out of your life. Paris, London, Rome... I went everywhere. And none of it makes me happy without you."

I watched her, trying to read what was real. I'd never seen her like this—Isabella, proud as she was, cracked wide open.

"You don't believe me?" She stared at me like I'd betrayed her.

"I believe evidence."

She held my gaze for two seconds, then turned away.

The west wall was all glass—floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to a terrace. Below it, the street and the cars looked like black specks. She walked straight over and flipped the latch. Wind punched inside, yanking at her skirt.

"Isabella."

She stepped over the frame, heels clicking onto the terrace. Then she turned back, tears stuck to her cheeks.

My lungs locked up.

Years ago, when I'd pushed open my mother's bedroom door, I'd seen a face that pale. My father's betrayal had hollowed her out, and she'd still told me she was fine. Later she never woke up. The fear from that moment had never left—it had just been buried deep.