Episode 5

Chapter 5

A broken marriage.

The murmur of the gala returned like a distant swell. Guests passed between columns, musicians gathered bows and sheet music, waiters removed empty glasses.

The world returned to its rhythm. But Issabelle and Giordanno were suspended in a moment outside of time.

Issabelle leaned her back against the wall, crossed her arms under her chest and challenged him with a look.

"A dance," she whispered with a hint of mockery.

Giordanno bowed his head in respect and, with an elegant gesture, offered her his arm. Issabelle took it, noticing the warmth of his skin under the cold fabric of her dress.

"Thank you for helping me... I guess princes also exist outside of fairy tales," she whispered gracefully, bringing a smile to the Italian tycoon's face.

He smiled, and his eyes sparkled with a contained promise. For a moment, he knew it was her, the woman he always wanted to be with.

"Sometimes we write the stories ourselves."

Issabelle felt a tickle in her stomach. That man, so different from Enzo, looked at her as if he were discovering an unexpected jewel. And she, for the first time since she was reborn, allowed herself to feel something without fear. However ephemeral it was.

In the distance, Enzo was talking with Count Ferrara and some partners. From time to time he looked up at Issabelle, seeking to regain control of a situation that was already slipping out of his hands.

He saw her take Giordanno's arm, walk towards the dance floor and spin with him as if they were the star couple of the dance. His jaw clenched. That old flame that he thought was extinct reverberated strongly.

Eva, next to him, noticed the change in his expression and smiled maliciously.

She thought she saw her definitive revenge confirmed: Issabelle trapped in another spell, forgetting her role as a wife, and Enzo realizing that she was still just any woman.

Count Ferrara observed the situation and squeezed Enzo's arm slightly with a stern whisper:

"Take good care of what you do, boy. Don't let a guest steal what is yours."

Enzo nodded with a thread of contained rage. His eyes met Issabelle's for an instant, and in that look there was reproach, pain and a hint of supplication.

But Issabelle was no longer the woman who used to beg.

She turned her face towards Giordanno and, when separating her hands from his arm, felt certain that her life had taken a new course.

When the music ended, Giordanno accompanied Issabelle to the threshold of the door that connected to the adjoining art gallery. There they stopped.

"Tonight has been… pleasant," he said, pausing almost dramatically. "I would like to continue this conversation away from prying eyes."

Issabelle stared at him, assessing the risk. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.

"Tomorrow I have commitments with Ferrara and Rossi," she replied. "The day after, with the Baroness. I don't know if I will have time for… pleasant situations."

Giordanno raised an eyebrow, his expression amused, he understood that this was nothing more than a polite rejection.

"I'm not asking for hours, just a moment. A coffee or a dinner?"

Issabelle felt the air become thick, impossible to breathe.

"Thank you for your invitation," she finally refused, cordially. "I'm afraid I'll pass this time."

He smiled, it was just what he expected.

He raised his hand to barely brush his fingers against hers. It was an electric, brief touch that ignited a contained fire.

"Then," he commented, "see you soon. Mrs. Mancini."

And he walked away with a silent step, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

Issabelle watched his figure fade and felt a warm emptiness in her chest. She rested her hand on the door frame, closed her eyes for an instant and took a deep breath.

The pain in her temple had disappeared, replaced by a tingle of hope.

That night, while the last guests said goodbye with elegance and the hotel regained its silence, Issabelle remained in the anteroom, contemplating her reflection in an obsidian mirror. She saw the woman who died a few hours ago and who was reborn to obtain her redemption.

The one who swore never to be the victim again.

She saw a queen willing to reclaim her throne, in business and in love.

In a moment, Enzo emerged from among the last groups of guests like a wounded predator: his shoulders tense, his face flushed with contained anger.

He advanced to Issabelle, who was still contemplating her reflection in the mirror, and grabbed her arm roughly.

"What has all that been?" his voice vibrated with reproach. "The clumsiness with the glass, the endless talk with Lombardi, that dance...? Since when do you allow yourself to humiliate me like that in front of our partners?"

Issabelle turned slowly, as if waking from a dream. Her gray eyes rested on him without a trace of doubt or remorse.

She separated her arm from her husband's grip with a smooth movement, and rested one of her hands on her hips.

"There is no humiliation, Mr. Milani," she replied coldly. "I am simply building alliances. Business, nothing more. Giordanno Lombardi is an influential man; talking to him is not a whim, it is a strategy. And the dance... was a gesture of courtesy. Remember that the future of our company depends on this alliance."

Enzo clenched his fists, unable to hide the trembling of rage. His eyes ran over Issabelle's white dress, her upright posture, her confident gaze.

For the first time he wondered with real fear: at what point did that woman stop needing him?

"Strategy?" he spat with disdain. "And what am I in all this, a simple spectator? I thought we were husband and wife… but it seems that you turned me into an irrelevant pawn."

Issabelle tilted her head, as if studying a curious object.

"You chose not to get involved," she said. "You continue to be absent day after day and when you speak to me, you do so only to remember that in your life I have been nothing more than a contract. Now I am reaping the rewards of my effort. If that bothers you, it's not my problem."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked towards the opposite end of the gallery. Each step echoed on the marble, marking the growing distance between them. Enzo followed her a few meters, then stopped, panting, with his jaw clenched.

While Issabelle disappeared behind a column, he stood motionless under the flickering light of a chandelier.

The distant murmur of the last guests and the echo of his own heartbeat filled the silence.

Enzo gritted his teeth and muttered to himself:

"We'll see who has the last word…"

And at that moment he knew that the game was just beginning.

From the shadows, Giordanno watched the scene between Issabelle and Enzo. His smile was a secret shared with the night: nothing would ever be the same.

Issabelle's marriage was breaking with each step and he, was willing to take advantage of the cracks.

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