Chapter 97
Colt's voice, like a venomous snake, coiled around Isabella's ear.
"You can open this door and find the answers."
The door was right in front of her.
The dark, heavy wooden door looked thick, probably soundproof, but at this moment, faint sounds of flesh colliding came from inside.
"Open it," Colt urged, a malicious glint in his amber eyes. "The truth often hurts, but it's better than living in a lie, isn't it?"
Isabella stared at the doorknob.
It was metal, cold, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Gathering her courage, she reached out and gripped the handle.
It felt icy, like holding a piece of ice.
Isabella didn't turn it right away. She paused, fear wrapping around her heart like creeping vines.
Then, she pressed her ear against the door.
She heard it, the sound of flesh striking flesh.
Rhythmic, heavy, like a hand slapping wet leather.
Accompanied by a woman's broken moans.
Isabella's heart felt like it had been pierced by an ice pick.
The blood drained from her face, her fingertips went numb, and a buzzing filled her ears.
She took a step back, releasing the doorknob as if it had burned her.
No.
It can't be.
Vitale wouldn't be here.
Not at a sex party like this.
But Colt said he was.
And those sounds inside—the moans, the impacts...
Isabella's eyes stung.
She stumbled back, turned, and nearly ran away from this room filled with obscene noises.
Inside the room, Ali was lost in the act with the woman beneath him.
The woman was bent over the armrest of a sofa, her skirt hiked up to her waist, exposing her smooth ass.
Ali's movements were rough, primal, without any tenderness—just pure lust.
His vision blurred with pleasure, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flash of gold outside the door crack.
He paused for a second, but the woman beneath him squirmed in dissatisfaction, pushing her hips back against him, her pussy tightening, letting out an inviting moan.
Ali cursed under his breath, shoving the ridiculous thought out of his mind.
Isabella couldn't be here.
She was a pure white flower, growing in the sunlight, clean and innocent.
This dark, indulgent, emotionless sex party wasn't her world.
There's no way Isabella would show up here, no way she'd see him like this.
Ali grabbed the woman's hips, spreading them apart, then thrust his cock harder, drowning all rational thought in pain and pleasure.
In the hallway outside, Colt chased after her a few steps, shouting, "Thanks for stopping by, Isabella! Hope you weren't too shocked!"
His voice dripped with mockery.
Then, he turned to go back to the room, but a pair of hands reached out from the doorway, grabbed his collar, and pulled him inside.
It was Sonia.
She stood on her toes and kissed Colt, her tongue forcefully prying open his teeth.
Colt chuckled lowly, his hand skillfully slipping under her skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh. "So eager?"
Sonia gasped, lifting her skirt herself, revealing she wore nothing underneath.
She grabbed Colt's hand, guiding it to her already wet pussy, then turned around, facing away from him, bracing herself against the door, her hips pushing back.
"Come in," Sonia commanded, her voice hoarse with desire.
Colt unzipped his pants, no foreplay, just thrusting his cock straight into her wet cunt.
The impact made Sonia's body hit the door, creating a dull thud.
He gripped her waist, starting to move fast, his actions rough, almost like punishment.
"Enjoying this?" Colt asked near Sonia's ear, his voice carrying a wicked smirk.
Sonia's moans were loud and genuine, her head tilting back. "Of course I am. Hurting Isabella is the best feeling ever."
Colt paused for a moment, then laughed deeper, his movements growing even fiercer. "No, I'm the one making you feel the best."
With that, he turned Sonia's face toward him, sealing her mouth with his, their tongues intertwining. The sounds of their moans and saliva mingled behind the door, blending with the other lewd noises in the room, weaving a web of desire and betrayal.
Outside, Isabella had already run far away.
---
Isabella ran and cried.
Only one thought filled her mind.
Leave. Now. Immediately.
She didn't want Vitale anymore.
She didn't want anything.
Back at the hotel, Isabella burst into her room, not even turning on the lights. She opened her suitcase and started packing frantically.
Her movements were mechanical and quick, grabbing clothes and stuffing them in, not folding, not organizing. Her black lace nightgown was still on, with a robe thrown haphazardly over it, but none of that mattered now.
She had to leave this place.
Get the earliest flight out, get away from Vitale.
She'd find a new apartment in a quiet neighborhood, maybe get a cat.
She'd resign from Tyson Group, send a short email, and disappear forever.
She'd delete Vitale's number, block all his contacts, pretend she'd never known him.
She didn't want to see him again.
Ever.
This decision cut into Isabella's heart like a cold blade.
When the pain is too intense, the body activates a defense mechanism, numbing you to it.
Right now, her heart was doing just that.
The suitcase snapped shut, the zipper pulled tight.
Isabella dragged it toward the door, her hand pausing on the doorknob for just a moment.
She remembered the hours spent waiting in this room.
She remembered the song she hummed while showering, the anticipation as she put on the black lace nightgown, and lying in bed imagining the moment Vitale would return.
How ironic.
How ridiculous.
Isabella took a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and dragged her suitcase into the hallway.
The elevator was at the end of the corridor. She walked quickly, pressed the button, and the wait felt like an eternity.
The elevator doors opened, empty.
She stepped inside, pressed the button for the lobby, and the doors slowly closed.
The confined space reminded Isabella of another elevator.
The one where she and Vitale had made love.
Back then, he had pinned her against the mirror, his kisses burning, his hands eager, her body melting under his touch.
At that time, she had felt sorry for him, worried about his fear of heights, and ached for the dark past he carried.
That bastard.
Isabella bit her lower lip, forcing herself to stop remembering.
If Vitale dared to stop her now, dared to show up in front of her, she'd bite him to death.
With her teeth, her nails, with everything she had.
She wouldn't give in, wouldn't forgive, wouldn't let herself be fooled by his lies and charm again.
The elevator descended, the numbers ticking down.
Isabella prayed to God, begging that Henley wouldn't show up.
She didn't hate Henley, the quiet bodyguard who was innocent in all this, but she couldn't fight him, and she didn't want to hurt him.
She just wanted to leave quietly, as if she had never been here.
The elevator doors opened in the lobby.
Isabella dragged her suitcase out and headed straight for the front desk.
The late-night lobby was quiet, with only a few staff members on duty.
"Check out," Isabella's voice was hoarse, her eyes red and swollen, but her tone was firm. "Now."
The staff at the front desk recognized her.
The woman who had checked in with Vitale.
He glanced at the suitcase in Isabella's hand, then at the tear stains on her face, hesitating for a moment. "Alright, Miss. Please wait a moment."
He operated the computer and printed the bill.
Isabella stood there, her fingers gripping the suitcase handle so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She wiped the tears from her face, but new ones quickly followed.
Just then, she heard a familiar voice.
Deep, slightly raspy, with an Eldoria accent.
Isabella turned her head sharply.
At the lobby entrance, Vitale was walking in.
He didn't look right.
He had one hand pressed to his stomach, his face pale, his steps less steady than usual, as if he were drunk or unwell.
His other hand held a cigarette, and he was on the phone, brows furrowed, expression irritated.
"I don't care what they think. The contract is signed, the terms won't change. Yes, tell Blake if he wants to play games, I'm ready to play hard..."
Vitale walked through the revolving door, cigarette smoke trailing behind him.
He didn't carry the scent of a sex party.
No mix of perfumes, no smell of sweat or lust.
Just the familiar aroma of cigar and whiskey, and... a faint hint of hospital disinfectant?
Isabella froze in place, nearly losing her grip on the suitcase handle.
Vitale ended the call, looked up, and scanned the lobby. His gaze landed on her.
He stopped, staring at the suitcase in her hand, the tear stains on her face, her swollen eyes, and the haphazardly thrown-on robe with the black lace peeking out underneath.
Vitale strode over quickly, his voice filled with genuine surprise and confusion. "Where are you going, abandoning me like this?"
He stood in front of Isabella, close enough for her to see every detail of his face.
The pale complexion, the shadows under his eyes, and the raw, real confusion swirling in his blue eyes.
Then his expression changed.
From confusion to shock, and then to a cold, ruthless intensity Isabella had never seen before.
"Who hurt you?"
"Who made you cry? Tell me their name, Isabella. Now."
Isabella looked at his face, her mind a mess.
"I..." her voice choked, "I thought... I thought you were sleeping with another woman. At that party... Colt said..."
Vitale looked puzzled, his brows knitting together as if trying to make sense of her words.
"What? Me with who? What other woman? What party?"
Isabella's tears spilled over again, this time from grievance and confusion.
She cried harder, like a lost child.
Vitale watched her cry, his expression shifting from fierce to something close to pained concern.
He rubbed his temple with one hand, the gesture showing exhaustion and frustration.
His voice softened as he reached out to touch her face, but Isabella instinctively flinched away.
His hand paused mid-air, then dropped. "Did you go to that party? The one Colt and Sonia threw? The sex party? And you saw them?"
Isabella nodded, tears blurring her vision. "So you were at that party? You really..."
"No," Vitale cut her off, his voice firm. "I don't like those kinds of parties. I'm very particular about relationships. I've told you, from the day I was born until now, you're the only woman I've been with."
"So I didn't step foot in there. Why did you go? Didn't I tell you to wait for me in the room?"