Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 100

Isadora was ushered into a lavish office by Kemp.

A secretary quickly brought in a glass of water, setting it down on the desk before quietly slipping out.

Kemp offered a polite smile. “Please have a seat, Miss Vaughan. Mr. Fitzgerald is in a meeting, but he’ll be with you shortly.”

With that, he left her alone in the room.

Isadora settled onto the couch, letting her gaze wander.

This office, she thought, was so unmistakably Victor.

Along one wall stood an entire row—hundreds, it seemed—of limited-edition model cars, each one gleaming under the soft light.

Isadora didn’t doubt for a second that Victor owned every single one of these cars in real life.

Her mind drifted back to that day Victor had taken her racing, the world flying by in a blur of color and wind, his easy confidence as clear in her memory as if he were right beside her now.

A flicker of longing tugged inside her; she wanted to feel that rush again.

Rising from the couch, she wandered over to the display and picked up one of the models, turning it over in her hands.

As she set it back down, her eyes caught on a photograph propped up on Victor’s desk.

It showed a little girl and a small dog.

A dog? She looked closer.

The dog must have been Pudding as a puppy—scruffy white fur, a little thin, lying motionless on the floor. Even in the photo, it looked frail and undernourished.

The little girl’s face was turned down, hiding her features, but her small hand gently stroked the puppy’s head. She wore a blue and white dress, patched at the seams, and her cheek was smudged with dirt. Both the girl and the dog looked like they’d seen better days.

The photo felt jarringly out of place in such a luxurious, carefully curated office.

Isadora set the model car down, meaning to take a closer look at the picture, when suddenly the door swung open.

A tall, lean man lounged in the doorway, his posture relaxed but unmistakably commanding.

Victor sauntered over to the couch and sank down, stretching out and crossing his legs with casual ease. He draped his arms along the backrest, looking at once completely at home and utterly indifferent.

His dark eyes met hers, unwavering.

Isadora sat straight in her crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt—simple business attire that somehow still managed to accentuate her graceful curves. Her softly curled hair was swept back, revealing a smooth brow and porcelain complexion.

There was a gentleness in her gaze, a warmth that seemed to see straight through people.

For a heartbeat, Victor’s eyes darkened, his resolve wavering under the weight of her look.

But then he remembered the wedding photo—and something Magnus had said. Instantly, he snapped back to reality, his demeanor turning cold and distant.

A wry, almost mocking smile tugged at Victor’s lips as he let out a short, mirthless laugh.

“Money again, Miss Vaughan? Every time you come to me, it’s always about money. Yet you never offer anything in return. Tell me, do I look like a fool to you? Is that what you see when you look at me?”

Isadora considered his words. She had to admit—he wasn’t entirely wrong.