Chapter 90 It felt like a trap
The echo of footsteps had barely faded when Isabelle appeared in front of them, heels clicking like tiny knives on the polished floor.
“There you are,” she said with a bright, sugary smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Before Dante could react, she leaned in and pressed a long kiss on his cheek slowly, marking him, and making sure Luca saw it again.
Her hand slid around Dante’s arm like a clamp.
Luca lifted an eyebrow at her, but she pretended not to notice.
“The meeting is about to start,” she told them, her voice soaked in fake sweetness. “Mr Jean-Paul is already waiting.”
Luca nodded stiffly and stepped past them, but before turning the corner, he paused. He looked back at Dante the way an older brother looks when he’s worried but trying not to show it.
“Think about what I said,” he murmured.
His tone wasn’t angry now. It wasn’t cold.
It was almost pleading.
Then he walked away.
Dante’s chest tightened. Luca’s words still echoed inside him.
You’re acting like Father. You’re choosing a lie. You still love her.
He pushed the thoughts down so fast they almost hurt.
Isabelle tilted her head, her lips tightening. “What was he talking about?”
“Nothing,” Dante said quickly. “Just sibling stuff.”
She didn’t believe him. Her eyes narrowed a little, calculating. But she forced another smile.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
He took her hand not because he wanted to, but because it was easier than arguing in the hallway.
As they walked to the conference room, Dante felt something inside him sink deeper, heavier, like a stone dropping into the bottom of a well.
He didn’t say a word. And neither did Isabelle.
The boardroom was full when they entered. Long table, bright lights, neatly stacked papers. Everyone turned to look.
Everyone saw Isabelle on Dante’s arm.
And she loved it.
She lifted her chin proudly as she took her seat beside him. Dante sat stiffly, barely hearing the greetings around him.
The meeting started. Voices merged with sales reports, market growth, and plans for the next quarter. People talked confidently, arguing politely, and taking notes.
But Dante didn’t catch half of it.
His mind drifted over and over to everything that had happened that day.
Sienna’s trembling voice at the racetrack.
Then Luca’s words in the hallway.
His mind wouldn’t stop replaying Sienna’s eyes, full of pain, betrayal, and exhaustion.
He hated himself for how easily he had hurt her.
He glanced across the large table and saw his father sitting straight-backed, calm, even smiling, like the world was exactly as it should be.
Jean-Paul’s prideful face made his stomach twist.
His father had been strangely cheerful all meeting, praising the company’s numbers, making jokes, and nodding at Isabelle with approval. Like he was completely untouched by everything burning around them.
Like Sienna’s destroyed career meant nothing. Like Dante’s broken heart meant nothing. Like his sons’ fight meant nothing.
When the meeting ended, everyone stood up, gathering their papers. Isabelle snapped her binder shut loudly, then placed a possessive hand on Dante’s thigh as she leaned closer.
“Your father wants to see you,” she whispered. “In his office.”
Her eyes held a glimmer not of concern, but satisfaction.
Dante nodded woodenly and stood.
His father’s office smelled of wood polish and old leather, a place meant to remind people of power.Dante didn’t know what to expect when his father said he wanted to “discuss something important,” but he definitely didn’t expect this.
Jean-Paul turned when Dante entered.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t frowning.
“You’re walking without support,” Jean-Paul said, his face lighting up. “I’m glad, Dante. Truly glad. You grew stronger.”
Something warm flickered in Dante’s chest. He didn’t get praise often, certainly not from his father.
“Thank you,” Dante said quietly.
Jean-Paul gestured for him to sit. Dante lowered himself into a leather chair. His father sat opposite him, fingers tapping lightly on the desk.
“You’ve taken big steps,” Jean-Paul said. “Your recovery, your presence at the company, your relationship with Isabelle.”
Dante looked down for a second. His heart felt tight. But he nodded anyway.
Jean-Paul leaned back, smiling like a man who finally had everything under control.
“Good. Because now, I have news.”
He paused. “I want you to marry Isabelle before the end of the month.”
The air left Dante’s lungs.
His head shot up in shock. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?” Dante asked, breath unsteady. “Why the rush?”
Jean-Paul looked at him the way businessmen look at a deal, calm, firm, and unbending.
“Because it’s time,” he said simply. “Our families will merge. The investors are expecting it. The press is already leaning toward the idea. You two look good together, and after the accident, the public likes this story of ‘healing and devotion.’ It helps the brand.”
Dante stared at him, the words hitting him like stones.
“It helps the brand?” he repeated quietly.
Jean-Paul nodded without shame. “Varon Motors benefits. And so do you.”
Dante’s heart slammed in his chest.
Is this all he was? A tool? A face? A story?
His voice cracked. “Dad, this is my life.”
Jean-Paul waved a hand. “Yes, and your life is tied to this company. You know that.”
Dante’s throat felt tight. He shook his head. “No. Not like this.”
Jean-Paul’s face hardened. “Isabelle is good for our image. Her family brings stability. Their shares could boost our next expansion.”
Dante flinched at the word shares.
“So that’s what this is,” he whispered. “A trade.”
Jean-Paul didn’t blink. “A partnership.”
Dante laughed but it wasn’t humor. It was pain. “You don’t care if I’m happy.”
Jean-Paul leaned forward. “Happiness is a luxury, Dante. Responsibility is not. You must learn the difference.”
Dante felt his hands shake.
His father kept going, voice stern, confident, rehearsed. “You’re lucky Isabelle stood by you after the accident. She was loyal when everyone else doubted you. She’s clean, polished, respectable. Sienna Hale, on the other hand.”
“Stop,” Dante snapped, rising to his feet.
Jean-Paul’s eyebrows lifted but he didn’t stop. “She has become a liability. Scandal, with revoked license, bad publicity. Drama follows that girl.”
Dante’s chest burned with anger. His father spoke like Sienna was a stain to wash off. Like she wasn’t a human being who saved lives for a living.
“She lost everything because of people like you,” Dante whispered.
Jean-Paul didn’t even look guilty. “People like me keep this company alive.”
Dante’s heart hammered violently. “I won’t rush a wedding.”
“You will,” Jean-Paul said calmly. “Before the month ends.”
“No,” Dante said louder, shaking.
Jean-Paul’s eyes turned cold. “You’re the heir. You don’t get to say no.”
Dante’s breath caught.
His father continued, tone final: “Isabelle has been patient. She cares about you. She will give this family a strong future. I expect you to step up. No more delays.”
Dante felt something break inside him.
His father was choosing business over his son’s happiness again. Just like Luca warned. Just like he always did.
“What if I don’t?” Dante asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Jean-Paul didn’t hesitate. “I’ll remove you from succession.”
The words stabbed him.
Dante’s vision blurred for a second. He felt sick.
His father softened his tone now, pretending to be kind and concerned.
“Think about your future, son. This marriage will secure it.”
Dante stared at the floor, chest tight, heart aching, mind spiraling.
He thought of Sienna.Her tears. Her voice cracking. Her asking if he ever loved her.
He thought of Luca’s disappointed eyes.
He thought of Isabelle’s smirk every time someone praised her.
He thought of the forceful kiss she’d placed on him in the hallway.
He thought of himself trapped, confused, and tired of being pushed around like a piece of property.
Before he could respond, the office door suddenly swung open.
Jean-Paul’s sentence died in his throat.
Dante turned sharply toward the door and froze.
Isabelle stood there.
Isabelle slipped inside behind him, moving quietly but confidently, like someone who already belonged there. She closed the door and stood next to Dante with a soft smile, placing her hand on his forearm as though she owned every piece of him.
Dante gently pulled his arm away.
Jean-Paul pretended not to notice.
“I’m glad you both came,” Jean-Paul said, straightening some papers on his desk. “We have a lot to cover.”
Dante sighed deeply, already exhausted. His heart was still raw from seeing Sienna at the racetrack, hearing the truth she had whispered with tear-filled eyes. He couldn’t stop replaying her words, couldn’t stop hearing the pain in her voice each time he shut his eyes.
Now he was stuck in a room with his father and a woman he wasn’t sure he even knew anymore.
He felt trapped.
Before he could ask what the meeting was about, the door opened again.