Chapter 78
Vitale gave Isabella a day off.
His intention was for her to rest and get away from the bloody schemes and the mess of numbers.
But when he passed by her workspace the next afternoon with a coffee in hand, the sight before him left him both surprised and captivated.
Isabella was there.
Her golden hair was casually tied into a ponytail, with a few stray strands sticking to her sweaty neck.
She held a phone in one hand, speaking rapidly in a mix of English and Eldoria language while arguing with someone, while her other hand rummaged through a pile of documents.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing her in a golden glow, making her look like an untiring goddess from a myth.
"No, listen, the third-page attachment Blake sent doesn't match the data on page seven. Either they messed up, or they did it on purpose!" Isabella's voice rose with anger as she slammed her fingers on the desk. "I need to double-check all the customs invoices, now!"
Vitale leaned against the doorframe, his coffee cup paused at his lips.
He had never seen Isabella so alive in work mode.
Her lips moved faster than they did when kissing, her brows furrowed in focus, and her eyes burned with fury.
What surprised Vitale even more was what happened next.
At a certain point in the argument, Isabella suddenly kicked off her high heels, stepped barefoot onto her office chair, and then…
Vitale could hardly believe his eyes.
Isabella climbed straight onto the desk.
"Hold on, hold on!" she said into the phone, starting to push papers, pen holders, and even a small succulent plant off the desk to clear some space.
Then Isabella lay down, flat on the wide desk, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand gesturing in the air as if tracing a chart only she could see.
Vitale was completely mesmerized.
This strange, impulsive woman, who didn't care about her image at all, was more beautiful to him at this moment than any famous painting.
Isabella finally noticed him.
She sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushing instantly. "Mr. Luca."
Vitale walked over and handed her the coffee. "Take care of yourself."
His voice was unusually gentle.
Isabella took the coffee, confused, and was about to ask what he meant.
But Vitale had already turned to leave.
His phone rang, an encrypted number from Lumaria.
He walked to the end of the hallway to take the call.
It was Victor, reporting the latest intel on Costa's whereabouts.
The call lasted fifteen minutes, and when Vitale returned to Isabella's workspace, she was gone.
He frowned, an unexplained anxiety creeping into his chest.
He headed to Amboni's office. "Where's Isabella?"
"She said she needed some fresh air. She went to the garden," Amboni replied without looking up, busy with follow-up documents for the racetrack deal.
Vitale made his way to the staff garden.
It was an open terrace on the top floor of the Tyson Group building, filled with drought-resistant olive trees and Lunaire Sea plants, usually only visited during lunch breaks.
Vitale stopped at the garden entrance, holding his breath.
Isabella stood with her back to him in a sun-dappled clearing.
She was barefoot, wearing the familiar beige business suit.
But now her jacket was off, tossed on a bench, and the hem of her white blouse was pulled out from her skirt, swaying lightly with her movements.
She was doing some kind of stretching exercise.
Her arms reached high above her head, her body arching backward, the blouse riding up to reveal a sliver of her slender waist.
Then Isabella bent forward, her palms touching the ground, the neckline of her blouse naturally drooping.
Vitale saw it.
The perfect breasts he had kissed and caressed countless times, faintly visible through white lace lingerie.
The sunlight pierced through the thin fabric of her blouse, almost like a second skin.
Vitale felt his throat tighten, blood rushing downward.
Was this damn woman doing this on purpose?
Torturing him like this in a semi-public place?
But logic told Vitale that Isabella didn't know he'd come.
She was just relaxing during a break from work, like she used to on her apartment balcony.
It was he who followed her like a creep, he who couldn't control his dirty thoughts.
Vitale remembered the elevator at Blake's place.
When fear gripped his throat like an icy hand, it was Isabella who distracted him with her kisses and her body.
She didn't say, "Are you afraid of heights?" Instead, she asked, "Are you okay?"
She saw through him but chose to cover his vulnerability with desire.
Maybe Victor was right.
Isabella was indeed his weakness.
Not because she could get hurt, but because she saw through all his masks, even the parts he didn't want to admit to himself.
Vitale turned and left, deciding to keep his distance.
For the next two days, Vitale stuck to that decision.
He stayed in his office, handling the final details of the racetrack deal, not letting Isabella deliver documents, keeping all communication through Amboni or email.
He was busy with meetings with lawyers, accountants, even arms dealers, his mind full of numbers, contracts, and revenge plans.
He managed to push Isabella out of his workday thoughts.
He even forgot that just two nights ago, he was in her apartment bed, listening to her call his name during climax.
Forgot he promised to take her to the greenhouse to sort through Liliana's belongings.
Forgot to knock on her door late at night as usual, proving his longing with his body.
Isabella seemed busy with her own work, too.
She didn't come to Vitale, didn't send those playful messages with cute emojis, didn't show up at his office during lunch.
She dealt with issues in Blake's contract, negotiated with customs, prepared tax documents, and went home exhausted every day, collapsing into bed.
But in her dreams, Vitale was everywhere.
Isabella would dream of him kissing her in the elevator, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her chest.
Dream of him pressing her against the floor-to-ceiling window in the office, the stunning night view outside.
Dream of him on the castle bed, his red hair like flames in the candlelight, his blue eyes reflecting only her.
Meanwhile, in reality, Vitale drove to her apartment building every night.
He'd sit in his car smoking, one cigarette after another, until the light in Isabella's bedroom went out.
Then he'd use his spare key to open the door, standing at her bedroom doorway like a true stalker, watching her sleep.
On the third night, Vitale lost control.
Isabella turned over in her sleep, the thin blanket slipping off, revealing her body in just a camisole nightdress.
Moonlight shone on her bare shoulders and thighs, those familiar curves rising and falling in the shadows.
Vitale walked to the bed and gently lifted the blanket.
He lay beside her, not touching her, just feeling her warmth and breathing in the faint scent of her body wash.
When Isabella let out a soft moan in her sleep, unconsciously shifting closer to him, Vitale abruptly got up and practically fled the apartment.
He returned to his villa, standing under an ice-cold shower.
The water pounded against his body, but it couldn't extinguish the burning desire.
Vitale's hand moved downward uncontrollably, gripping his already painfully hard cock.
He closed his eyes, his mind filled with Isabella.
Her stretched body in the garden, her lying pose on the desk, her unconscious invitation in her sleep.
At the moment of release, the pleasure was so intense it made Vitale tremble, but it was followed by a deeper emptiness.
Leaning against the cold tiled wall, water dripping from his red hair, he suddenly realized a terrifying truth.
This deliberate distance was more dangerous than any open intimacy.
Because desire doesn't disappear, it builds up until it explodes completely at some point.
On the third morning, Isabella headed to the printer area with a thick stack of papers.
She was sleep-deprived, her head pounding, her mind still spinning with customs tariff calculations.
At the corner, she collided head-on with a hurried intern.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" the intern panicked.
Papers scattered like snowflakes, and worse, the coffee the intern was holding spilled, the dark brown liquid instantly soaking the most important contracts.
"No… no…" Isabella knelt down, frantically trying to save the documents, but the ink had already smudged, the numbers unreadable.
She didn't notice her position.
Kneeling on the floor, leaning forward, her hips raised high in the tight black pencil skirt, facing the hallway.
Vitale had just come out of a meeting room when he saw this.
His steps halted.
Blood rushed to his lower abdomen, the desire he'd suppressed for three days roaring awake like a beast.
Isabella's ass swayed in front of him, the fabric of her skirt stretched tight, outlining a perfect curve.
Every time she moved, that part trembled slightly, like a silent invitation to him.
"Damn it."
Vitale's voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the hallway heard it.
The suppressed desire and anger in his tone made the air freeze instantly.
"Everyone," Vitale continued, his eyes locked on Isabella, his voice sounding like it was forced through gritted teeth, "close your eyes. Now."