Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 166

Victor didn’t even bother to look up. “Sorry, I’m colorblind.”

Mary frowned, piqued.

Was he just… completely uninterested?

She had a body that could make most men weak at the knees—she’d gotten used to the stares, the flirtatious grins, even the occasional nosebleed. But Victor? Not even a flicker of interest.

Did he have any idea how many men would kill for a chance to tear that dress off her?

Meanwhile, Magnus trailed closely behind Isadora, matching her every step.

Without warning, he reached out and spun her around, drawing her into his arms. In a smooth movement, he swept her straight onto the dance floor.

Isadora instantly tried to pull away, but tonight, the ballroom was packed with reporters—paparazzi just waiting to pounce on a headline. The last thing she wanted was to draw more attention.

She lowered her voice, her words edged with anger.

“What are you doing? Magnus, do you even realize what you’re doing right now? This is harassment.”

He looked contrite. “I just wanted to talk to you. Really talk.”

Guests nearby noticed the striking couple gliding into the waltz, sparking a wave of murmurs and excitement.

Isadora’s voice was cold, steely. “This relationship is ancient history. Your apologies don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

As she spoke, she caught a glimpse of Victor from the corner of her eye. He was watching them, his gaze icy and unreadable, like a winter storm about to break. Her heart clenched, unbidden. Even though she and Victor had no future together, she couldn’t help but dread what he might be thinking.

Magnus’s tone was earnest. “No, I love you. I don’t want us to be over.”

Isadora’s chill gave way to exasperation. “But I don’t love you. I’ve told you a hundred times—there’s nothing left between us!”

Magnus noticed the way her eyes lingered on someone else. His voice grew tight. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She said nothing. Something this personal didn’t deserve an answer.

Magnus’s eyes stung with unshed tears.

She stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle, but managed to catch the rhythm of the waltz—her years of dance lessons finally paying off.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fitzgerald, do you like it rough? Maybe later tonight you can show me what you’ve got.”

When he didn’t reply, Mary followed his gaze—Victor’s dark, icy eyes were focused somewhere else.

She laughed lightly. “That’s Wainwright over there, dancing with his lady—they look like a picture-perfect couple in those matching outfits.”

She leaned in, her voice a velvet purr. “But you and I would be even better together…”

Just then, the music shifted, and the men on the dance floor spun their partners out in a dramatic arc.

Mary hadn’t even finished her sentence when Victor released her with a swift movement, sending her twirling away.

In the next instant, a strong, familiar hand caught Isadora by the waist, drawing her into a solid, warm embrace.

She looked up—and found herself staring straight into Victor’s eyes. They were dark, fathomless, and cold as the stormy sea.