Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 82

But the water kept pouring down, drenching Isadora from head to toe.

“I haven’t even fucking touched you, Isadora, and you have the nerve to cheat on me?”

Soaked and furious, Isadora stormed forward, slapping Magnus’s hand away from the shower nozzle and glaring at him with open defiance. “I’ll do as I please. Who are you to tell me otherwise?”

There was something savage in Magnus’s eyes, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. “Unbelievable, Isadora! I really underestimated you, didn’t I?”

The truth was, for years Magnus had struggled to restrain his desire for Isadora. Whenever she was near, it took all of his willpower to keep his instincts in check—so much so that he’d learned to keep his distance, never allowing himself to get too close.

The Wainwrights were devout Catholics. Pre-marital sex was strictly forbidden—a family rule as old as the family itself. Years ago, when the Wainwrights were on the brink of bankruptcy, Magnus’s great-grandfather had turned to his faith, and somehow, miraculously, the disaster was averted. From that day on, the family had upheld the church’s teachings with unwavering devotion.

Now, Magnus could only laugh bitterly. The self-control he’d once prided himself on suddenly seemed pathetic—laughable, even. His own fiancée had betrayed him.

He snatched a white towel from the wall and started rubbing Isadora’s arms and shoulders with rough, angry motions. “You’re filthy! Is that it, Isadora? Couldn’t stand being alone for a minute, so you let someone else touch you? Tell me—who was it?”

He was ready to kill the man—whoever he was. Nothing would stop him.

“Filthy?” Isadora shoved him away, her eyes cold as ice. “If I disgust you so much, then maybe you shouldn’t have married a woman like me.”

A vein bulged in Magnus’s temple. “Isadora, if anyone’s going to leave, it’ll be me. If anyone’s going to cheat, it’ll be me. Who do you think you are?”

And it worked. Magnus looked like he’d been punched in the gut, staring at Isadora as if trying to read the truth in her icy expression—but finding nothing.

Fragments of memory flashed through his mind: his own voice saying, “If you lay a finger on her, I’ll pay you another million.”

He couldn’t accept it—any of it. He didn’t know how to face her, so he turned and fled, unsteady on his feet.

Lily, standing just outside, watched Magnus bolt from the room. Inside, the commotion had drawn a crowd—people from the bridal boutique peeking in to see what had happened.

There stood Isadora, the picture of devastation: her once-radiant face damp and pale, her wedding dress clinging to her soaked frame. She looked utterly lost—drenched, disheveled, and heartbreakingly alone.