Chapter 92 Isabelle's confrontation

Chapter 92 Isabelle's confrontation

Dante stormed out of the elevator with a face so tense the entire floor went silent. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and confusion, and every step he took echoed like a warning.

Everyone moved out of his way.

Assistants pretended to organize files. Interns bent their heads. Two junior managers who were laughing earlier froze completely, pretending they were suddenly fascinated by the floor.

No one dared breathe too loudly.

His anger felt like something alive inside him, expanding, pushing against his ribs, threatening to break out. He couldn’t keep it in, not anymore.

He pushed through the glass doors of the lobby, barely hearing the polite greetings the receptionist stuttered out. He didn’t care. He just needed to get out of that building.

He needed air. He needed space. He needed to understand why everyone seemed to know more about his life than he did.

When he reached the parking lot, he clicked the unlock button, tore open the car door, and slid inside. His hands were trembling as he gripped the wheel.

“Damn it,” he whispered to himself.

His father. Laurent. Isabelle. That message. The wedding plans. Sienna’s tears. The lies. The manipulation. The memory of the accident he was trying to remember.

It was too much.

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel and hit the gas, speeding out of the lot like a man who wanted to outrun everything chasing him.

He didn’t slow down. Not when he turned corners. Not when he reached the long stretch of coastal road. Not when the security guards at the villa opened the gates.

He drove like rage was the only fuel he had left.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, he threw the door open and marched straight into the villa.

The servants looked up, startled, confused, and frightened.

He ignored them all.

“Maria!” he shouted.

The head maid hurried out of the kitchen, nervousness already in her eyes. “Yes, sir?”

Dante stepped toward her, his expression sharp. “The day Sienna left this villa, did you see a note in her room?”

Maria blinked, thrown by the sudden question. “A… a note?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped into something deep and dangerous. “A note addressed to me.”

Her face paled. “N-no, sir. I didn’t see anything like that.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not lying, sir.”

Dante stepped closer. His eyes were cold, his breath unsteady. “If I ever find out you’re lying. I swear, Maria, I will make your life here miserable.”

She gasped softly, horrified. “Sir, please I swear on my life, I never saw any note.”

He stared at her for a long moment, mind racing.

Was she telling the truth? Was she terrified? Was she covering for someone?

He didn’t know. He didn’t trust anyone anymore. Not after everything.

Finally, he stepped back, voice clipped. “Go.”

Maria bowed quickly and ran off, almost tripping on her own feet.

Dante didn’t watch her go. His head was pounding. His chest was tight.

Everything felt wrong.

He went straight to his study, closed the door, and locked it. The click of the lock echoed in the silent room.

He finally exhaled.

He pressed his back against the door and slid down slightly, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m losing control.”

The study felt too quiet, and still like the room itself was waiting for him to break.

His eyes drifted to the desk.

The memories hit fast, Sienna sitting there, reading medical journals. Sienna smiling softly when he entered the room. Sienna brushing his hair off his forehead on days he was too tired to move. Sienna holding his trembling hands when the painkillers didn’t work. Sienna whispering, “You’re not alone. I’m always here.”

His stomach twisted painfully.

How did everything fall apart so fast?

Dante walked slowly to the desk and dropped into the chair. His hands clenched. His vision blurred for a moment, out of anger, and out of exhaustion.

He leaned forward, placing both elbows on the desk, and covered his face with his palms.

He stayed like that for a long time. He didn't know how long he was there but he woke up to see a bright light filtering through the window of his study. He checked his phone and he exhaled, it was 8 am in the morning.

He rushed to his room and showered.
Dante was tying the last button of his shirt when he heard heels clicking sharply across the marble floor. Fast, angry, and controlled. Every step sounded like an accusation.

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Isabelle.

She stopped a few feet away, arms folded tightly over her chest, eyes blazing with practiced fury.

“So this is what you’ve become?” she snapped. “Walking out of meetings? Humiliating me in front of my father? Acting like I’m the enemy?”

Dante closed his eyes for a brief moment. Not now. He picked up his watch and slid it around his wrist without looking at her.

“I’m going out.”

“Oh, you’re going out?” Isabelle laughed coldly. “And who gave you permission to do that before we talk about what happened yesterday?”

Her tone made his jaw tense.

He turned to face her. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”

She stepped closer, reaching for his shirt collar as if she owned the right to touch him. Dante moved away.

Isabelle’s smile thinned. “You embarrassed me, Dante. You embarrassed my father. You embarrassed your father. You acted like a child.”

He didn’t answer.

“So what was that little performance?” she demanded. “Do you think I’ll let you marry someone else? Do you think anyone would dare try to take you away from me?”

Dante’s voice was quiet, low, but sharp. “No one is taking me away from you, Isabelle. I’m trying to take myself.”

Her expression snapped.

She stepped forward again, grabbing his arm, nails digging in.

“Don’t talk like that. You sound ridiculous,” she hissed. “You think people like you get to love whoever they want? You think your father built this empire so you could run after some pathetic girl who ruined her own life?”

Dante’s breath caught.

There it was again. The contempt. The knife hidden behind her soft voice.

He pulled his arm free, slowly, firmly.“Don’t talk about her.”

Isabelle scoffed. “I will talk about her. Someone has to remind you what she is.”

He said nothing.

Inside, something cold pressed around his ribs. Anger and shame mixing in a way he hated.

“You’re acting like this because you saw her yesterday,” she accused. “You think I don’t know? She’s manipulating you again. Making you feel guilty. Making you doubt us.”

“There is no us,” Dante said quietly.

For a moment, Isabelle froze. Not because she was shocked but because she had not expected him to say it out loud.

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t mean that.”

Dante grabbed his coat. “I do.”

“Dante,” she said sharply, stepping in his way. “Look at me.”

He did.

“Your father wants this marriage. My father wants this marriage. Everyone expects it. And you.” she paused, her voice softening into something she hoped sounded like love, “you and I belong together. We always have.”

Her hand lifted to cup his cheek.

Dante stepped back. Her hand hung in the air, rejected.

Sienna’s voice filled his mind again. Sienna’s tears. Sienna’s hurt. Sienna’s shaking voice asking, “Did you ever love me?”

He swallowed hard. “I’m leaving,” he said, moving past her.

She grabbed his arm one more time. “If you walk out that door without fixing this, don’t expect me to protect you from whatever happens next.”

He met her eyes.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Isabelle said, lowering her voice, “you’re making a mistake. And when things get worse, trust me they will. Don’t come crying to me.”

Her words hit him like cold water.

It was difficult to tell if that was a threat, a warning, or she was trying to control him again.

He pulled his arm from her grip and opened the door. “I need space, Isabelle. I can’t breathe in this house.”

He walked out.

Her voice followed him, sharp and desperate. “Dante! If you leave now, don’t expect me to still be here when you come back!”

He didn’t turn around.

Inside, his thoughts pushed against each other, messy, and loud. “I can’t do this right now. I need clarity. I need to think. I need peace.”

He got in his car and drove off again. This time fast, but not in anger. More like a man trying to find the pieces of himself he’d lost.

The stadium was quiet in the early morning. A few engineers walked around, checking equipment, wiping down cars, and preparing for the day’s tests.

Dante walked past them with his head down. They greeted him politely, but he barely heard them. He went straight to the far side of the stands, climbed a few rows up, and sat down.

His body sagged into the seat. He closed his eyes. His breathing slowed.

“Just remember, try to remember what happened that night.”

The accident had blurred edges in his mind. He saw flashes, bright lights. He felt pain and heard voices. Then darkness.

He tried to pull the memories forward, but the harder he tried, the sharper the headache grew.

He clenched his fists.

Why can’t I remember everything? Why does it feel like something important is missing?

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

He breathed in and out, trying to steady himself.

The stadium felt different today. It was quiet. Like the whole place was holding its breath.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, light, gentle.

He opened his eyes and turned, prepared to snap, to push away whoever dared interrupt, but the moment his eyes lifted, everything in him softened.

A small, genuine smile tugged the edge of his mouth.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fake.

“It’s you,” Dante said quietly.

His chest loosened for the first time since morning. The tension in his shoulders eased. His heartbeat steadied.

He hadn’t expected to see the person behind him. He didn’t know if he was relieved or terrified.

But he knew one thing:

He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.