Chapter 68 The necklace
The crowd shifted, clearing a path.
There she was. Isabelle, stepping out from behind a row of cameras, had a knowing smile painted on her lips.
Her dress was the color of scarlet wine, shimmering under the afternoon sun. Her eyes found Sienna instantly, the smile twisting colder.
The crowd grew quiet. Isabelle’s gaze didn’t waver.
And Sienna felt the world tilt again because Isabelle's presence meant trouble and humiliation.
The crowd’s noise thinned to a hum, cameras clicking like distant thunder. Isabelle stood at the edge of the press circle, a vision of poise and poison.
Her gaze swept back to Dante once, then slid to Sienna.
The smile on her lips faltered.
It was small at first a tiny twitch, a freeze in her eyes but Dante noticed it. Sienna did too. Isabelle’s expression shifted from polite shock to something sharper and colder.
Her stare locked on the glitter around Sienna’s neck.
The gold necklace caught the light, shimmering softly elegant, timeless, and too distinct to be mistaken.
Dante’s mother’s necklace.
The one he’d told Sienna he’d kept for the woman he’d truly loved.
For a moment, everything seemed to stop.
“Where did you get that?” Isabelle’s voice was calm, but it sliced through the noise like glass.
Reporters glanced between them, cameras turning back toward the small trio.
Sienna blinked, confused. “I…”
“She’s wearing my necklace,” Isabelle said louder this time, her tone wrapping around the words like silk soaked in venom.
The crowd murmured.
Dante stepped forward instantly, his voice low and protective. “It was never yours, Isabelle.”
Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “Oh, really? Because I remember your father giving it to your mother before she left. And I remember you telling me you’d keep it for someone special.”
She took one slow step closer, eyes glinting. “I guess I should’ve known you’d give it away as easily as your promises.”
Sienna’s stomach twisted.
She could feel everyone watching, the cameras capturing every flicker of emotion across her face.
“I don’t want a scene,” Sienna said quietly, her voice trembling. “Let’s just..”
But Isabelle wasn’t done.
“Oh, I think the world deserves to see this,” Isabelle purred. “The therapist wearing the dead mother’s jewelry pretending she belongs in your story. How poetic.”
Laughter rippled through a few bystanders. The sound made Sienna’s chest tighten.
Dante’s jaw flexed. “That’s enough.”
Isabelle smiled wider, ignoring him. “You think she loves you, Dante? She loves your name. Your money. The pity. You think you’re her miracle? You’re her career highlight.”
Sienna’s face burned hot. Her throat felt too tight to speak.
She wanted to tell Isabelle to stop, to tell her she didn’t care about the money, the fame, or the past. But her voice wouldn’t come out.
Dante moved swiftly. He stepped directly in front of Sienna, blocking Isabelle’s view.
His voice dropped, cold and final. “You need to walk away.”
For the first time, Isabelle’s smile slipped.
“You’re really going to humiliate yourself for her?” she asked, her voice trembling faintly under its sugar.
Dante’s stare didn’t waver. “No,” he said. “I’m protecting the woman I love.”
The words hung between them, heavy and raw.
A few reporters gasped. Someone whispered, “Did he just say love?”
Isabelle’s breath hitched almost invisibly, but there. Then she composed herself, eyes hardening again.
“Well,” she said finally, voice smooth once more, “we’ll see how long that lasts.”
She turned sharply, heels clicking against the marble as she walked away. Cameras followed her like moths, flashes bouncing off her silver earrings.
The crowd slowly began to disperse, murmurs trailing behind her.
Sienna stood still. Her hands trembled, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it.
Dante turned to her, his face softening the instant their eyes met.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
She tried, but her vision blurred with tears. “She made it sound like… like I stole something that wasn’t mine.”
He shook his head, reaching for her hand. “You didn’t. It was always meant for you.”
Sienna swallowed hard, her voice breaking. “Then why did it hurt so much to hear her say it?”
Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way Isabelle looked at her like she’d never be enough. Like she didn’t deserve to stand beside him.
Dante brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “She can only hurt you if you let her.”
Sienna wanted to believe that. But as she glanced down at the necklace, the soft gold now felt like a brand she wasn’t sure she deserved to wear.
They got into the car in silence. The door shut with a dull thud that seemed too loud.
Sienna stared out the window, clutching the pendant gently between her fingers.
Dante reached over, placing his hand over hers. “Don’t take it off.”
She hesitated. “People will talk.”
He gave a small, tired smile. “Let them. I’m done hiding what matters.”
For a moment, she looked at him and saw how much he meant it. His eyes, still fierce despite the weariness. His hand, still warm around hers.
Maybe that was what love was. It's not perfect or easy, but stubborn enough to stay even when the world tries to pull it apart.
The car rolled forward, the city lights fading behind them.
Neither spoke again, but the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of fear, of promise, of everything they couldn’t say yet.
Back at the villa, as Sienna slipped off her coat. She entered first, and she didn't notice anything.
As Dante was about to enter, he noticed the envelope.
A sealed brown envelope lay at the edge of the villa’s front steps. He picked it up. No address. No name of a sender. Only his name is written in block letters to DANTE VARON.
Dante frowned, turning it over. It wasn’t from his manager, not from sponsors. He felt the weight, it was light, thin and something inside clinked softly when he moved it.
He tore it open.
Inside was a flash drive, small and black, and a folded note. “If you trust her, don’t watch this.”
Just seven, simple words. But they hit like a punch.
For a long moment, Dante just stared at them, his pulse loud in his ears. He should have thrown it away. He should’ve ignored it.
But curiosity was cruel. It whispered like a shadow in the back of his mind. What if it’s about her?