Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 10

Isadora clutched the blanket to her chest and edged backward. “Fair’s fair. I slept with you, then you slept with me. We’re even now.”

She was determined—he couldn’t hold this over her anymore.

Victor withdrew his hand, the lingering warmth of her skin still clinging to his fingertips. With one hand in his pocket, he stood tall and imposing, his dark eyes fixed intently on her for a few moments.

“Get dressed and come out for breakfast,” he said at last, then turned and strode out of the room.

Only after the door clicked shut did Isadora reach for the dress he’d left for her. She unfolded it and blinked in surprise—a form-fitting, deep plum dress, splashed with bold rose patterns. The fabric was luxurious, unmistakably expensive.

She had almost never worn anything so bold or alluring. Magnus had always preferred her in simple, innocent styles—soft pastels, clean lines, nothing that drew too much attention. And for him, she’d gone along with it, even though she hated it.

She’d never liked playing the innocent or pretending to be fragile. That only ever made her an easy target for people like Pearl Vaughan. But for Magnus’s sake, she’d put up with it all. Back then, he was everything to her.

Looking back now, she realized she’d been hopelessly lovesick. Honestly, in this day and age, being lovesick was practically an illness—and she desperately needed a cure.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Isadora tossed off the blanket, exposing skin almost startling in its paleness, crisscrossed with marks that screamed of last night’s lack of tenderness.

She pulled on the dress, piece by piece. To her shock, even the underwear fit perfectly.

She could only stare in mute exasperation—how did Victor know her exact size after just one night? Meanwhile, she had no idea about his, except that… well, he was big. Very big.

Isadora fanned her burning cheeks, trying to collect herself.

Get it together. Any woman would be a little flustered after a night with a man like him; her reaction was perfectly normal.

She slipped into the dress, gave herself a quick wash, and stepped out of the bedroom.

The villa’s staircase swept down in a sharp Z, and the cut of her dress forced her to walk slowly, careful not to trip. The slit in the skirt revealed flashes of her slender, pale legs as she descended.

Victor looked up from his phone at the sound of her footsteps. The instant he saw her, something flashed in his eyes—appreciation, maybe even a flicker of awe.

He had good taste.

Isadora was tall and slender, her wavy hair spilling over delicate features. Even without makeup, her skin glowed with a healthy, porcelain radiance. Draped in that dress, she looked every inch the regal beauty—elegant, striking, impossible to ignore.

Isadora had planned to call a ride and head home by herself, but her phone had gone missing and she didn’t have a cent on her. She had no choice but to hitch a ride with Victor back to Capitolion.

She gave him the address—Brocade Heights.

It was an average neighborhood in the city. Not cheap, but hardly the kind of place you’d expect the heiress of the Vaughan family to live.

Victor glanced at her. “Not staying with your family?”

“No.”

She met his gaze, saw that he was just making idle conversation, and didn’t bother explaining further.

When they reached her apartment complex, Isadora opened the door to step out—but Victor’s hand closed lazily around her slender arm.

“That’s it?” he drawled. “You’re just going to walk away?”