3 : RYAN & ISABELLA[ PART 2 ]

Ryan's POV

The SUV hums along the highway, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and white as we speed toward the airport. Andreas sits beside me in the backseat, his phone glowing in his hand, scrolling through something trivial—probably another one of his endless car reviews. My mind, though, is still trapped in the dining room of the mansion, replaying every word, every glance, every moment of that explosive confrontation.

Isabella.

Her name alone sends a jolt through me, like a spark igniting something long dormant. I lean back against the leather seat, my fingers drumming restlessly on my knee as I stare out the window, the memory of her standing up to Dad burning in my mind. The way her eyes blazed, her voice sharp and unyielding, cutting through the room like a blade. *“You think marrying my mom gives you the right to order me around, Haesung? You’re her husband, not my father.”* The words echo, raw and fearless, and I can’t help but feel a surge of respect for her.

She’s not like Athina. My sister, bless her, has always leaned on Mom’s decisions, letting our mother carve out her path with unwavering trust. Athina never fought for herself, never had to. Mom shielded her, guided her, made sure every step was secure. But Isabella? She’s a force of nature, forged in fire. I’ve heard whispers of her past—hardships that would’ve broken most people. She clawed her way to where she is now, alone, with no one to lean on. That kind of strength… it’s rare. It’s magnetic.

And yet, I underestimated her. I thought she’d bend, maybe grudgingly, to the family’s expectations. To *my* expectations. The social events, the Sunday lunches, the guards—I figured she’d see the necessity, the inevitability of it all. But the moment those demands were laid out, I saw the shift in her. Her face, usually so composed, cracked just enough to reveal the storm beneath. Those eyes—God, those eyes. They were fire and ice, defiance and something else, something that hit me harder than I expected: pain.

She was on the verge of tears, her jaw tight, her fists clenched to keep herself together. I’ve seen that look before, that desperate grip on control. It’s the same look I saw in the mirror after Mom died, when the world felt like it was caving in and I had to hold myself together for Athina, for the family. Seeing that same raw hurt in Isabella’s eyes… it twisted something deep in my chest, a pang I haven’t felt in years. Not since Mom’s death. Not since I learned what it means to carry a wound you can’t show.

I hurt her. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I thought I could push, thought I could enforce the rules of this world on her, but I was wrong. Forcing Isabella won’t work. She’s not a pawn to be moved, not a princess to be molded. She’s a fighter, and if I keep pushing, I’ll only drive her further away.

“Yo, Ryan, you good?” Andreas’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s looking at me now, his phone forgotten, one eyebrow raised in that half-curious, half-teasing way of his. “You’ve been staring out that window like you’re plotting world domination.”

I let out a low chuckle, but it’s hollow. My mind’s still on her. “Just thinking.”

“About what? The meeting in London?” Andreas leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Or is it something else? You’ve got that look, man. The one you get when you’re overanalyzing something.”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I pull out my phone, scrolling until I find the photo I took earlier tonight, one I snapped discreetly during dinner. Isabella, mid-conversation, her expression fierce as she faced Haesung. Her dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders, her posture rigid with defiance, but there’s a spark in her eyes that’s impossible to ignore. It’s not just anger—it’s strength, pure and unyielding.

“Her,” I say finally, turning the phone so Andreas can see the screen. “Isabella.”

Andreas’s eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a low whistle. “Damn. She’s intense. That’s the girl who went off on Haesung?” He leans closer, studying the photo. “I heard about it from Basil. Said she didn’t back down an inch. Gotta say, I’m impressed.”

“She’s… different.” I pause, searching for the right words. “She’s not like Athina. She’s fought for everything she has, all on her own. No safety net, no family pulling strings for her. And tonight, we tried to put her in a box, and she just…” I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “She tore it apart.”

Andreas laughs, but there’s a knowing edge to it. “Sounds like you respect her for it.”

“I do,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “But I messed up. I thought she’d go along with it—social events, guards, all that crap. I didn’t see how much it would hurt her. You should’ve seen her eyes, man. She was holding it together, but she was breaking inside. I felt it. Like a knife to the chest.”

Andreas’s expression shifts, the teasing fading into something more serious. He’s known me long enough to recognize when I’m rattled, and right now, I’m more than rattled. I’m shaken. “You’re serious about this,” he says, almost to himself. “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone. Not since—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. I don’t want to talk about Mom, not now. Not when the wound feels fresh again, stirred up by Isabella’s pain mirroring my own.

Andreas holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. So what’s the play? You gonna keep pushing her to play the mafia princess role?”

“No.” The word comes out firm, final. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the photo of Isabella again. “Forcing her won’t work. She’s too strong for that, too stubborn. I need to handle her differently. Carefully.”

“Carefully?” Andreas echoes, his brow furrowing. He’s used to me being decisive, not contemplative. “What’s that mean?”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. I’ve spent my life navigating this world—deals, alliances, power plays. But Isabella isn’t a deal to be closed or an alliance to be forged. She’s a person, one who’s fought harder than I ever had to, and I need to respect that. I need to *earn* her trust, not demand her obedience.

“I need to show her I’m not the enemy,” I say, my voice low but steady. “She’s expecting us to control her, to take away her freedom. So I’ll do the opposite. I’ll give her space, let her keep her independence. But I’ll be there—watching, supporting, proving I’m on her side. And when the time comes, when she sees I’m not trying to cage her, she’ll come around.”

Andreas stares at me, his expression a mix of confusion and shock. “You’re serious? You’re gonna play the long game with her? That’s… not your usual style, man.”

I meet his gaze, my jaw tight. “She’s worth it.”

For a moment, Andreas just looks at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Then a slow, crooked grin spreads across his face. He leans back, shaking his head. “Okay, Ryan. I’m in. Whatever you need—intel, backup, whatever—I’ll make it happen. The work will be done, don’t worry.”

I nod, my eyes drifting back to Isabella’s photo. Her fierce expression stares back at me, a challenge and a promise all at once. “Good,” I murmur. “Because I’m not letting her slip away.”

The SUV slows as we approach the airport, the hum of the engine fading into the background. My heart is still pounding, that pang from earlier lingering like an echo. Isabella’s pain, her strength, her fire—they’ve awakened something in me, something I haven’t felt in years. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not just playing the game. I’m fighting for something real.

To be continued..

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