Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 441

Who could've guessed? The government's top brass handed the North District project straight to The Fitzgerald Group—no surprises there.

Truth was, The Fitzgerald Group had more than enough capital to develop the area on their own. But because of Victor's long-standing friendship with the Walsh family—mainly out of respect for Meade Walsh—he agreed to partner with Legacy National Bank.

For Legacy, it was like catching the crumbs falling from the king's table.

But even crumbs from this feast were nothing to scoff at! If the North District development succeeded, the profits would be enough to cover Legacy's annual earnings for the next three years.

Presley and Colby lifted their glasses in a toast to Victor, their faces flushed with excitement.

Victor stood tall and composed, his every movement exuding effortless class. He sipped his whiskey without much interest, his dark eyes sweeping over the ballroom. But Isadora was nowhere to be seen.

A faint frown creased his brow.

Just then, another crowd pressed in, glasses raised, all eager for the chance to toast Victor, to curry favor or at least be remembered.

Yet Victor, surrounded by flattery and reverence, barely acknowledged their presence. He didn't even bother to lift his gaze.

The aura he radiated was one of cool detachment—an unspoken warning that kept everyone at arm's length. No one dared press their luck.

Pulling out his phone, Victor dialed a number.

The call rang and rang.

No answer.

His frown deepened. He called again, but the only reply was the cold, mechanical tone of an unanswered call.

This birthday party was being held up in the hills. There was no way Isadora would wander off alone. She wouldn't have missed his call, either.

But as he looked up, Victor's gaze met his again—impossibly cold, utterly devoid of warmth. The words caught in Colby's throat. For a moment, this man—well into his forties—felt like a terrified child, unable to say another word.

A few minutes later, the butler returned, head bowed. "Sir, we've searched every hall. There's no sign of Mrs. Fitzgerald."

Victor's eyelids flickered as he let out a cold, mirthless laugh. His expression was thunderous as he tossed his glass aside.

With a sharp *crash*, the whiskey glass shattered on the marble floor, sending shards flying.

Under the harsh glare of the crystal chandeliers, the spilled liquor gleamed on the tiles, sinister as fresh blood.

No one dared move, the entire room held in the grip of Victor's icy rage.

He curled his lips into a cruel, chilling smile. "How does someone just vanish from your party?"