Free Web NovelChapter 46: Another Kiss
His hold on her was firm, steady in a way that left her breathless, as he pulled her so close that their chests were flush against each other. Isadora could feel the heat radiating off him, could feel his breath mingling with hers, and for a heartbeat she forgot everything else. His lips continued to slide against hers in a way that gave her more than butterflies. It was dizzying, almost unbearable — the kind of feeling that spread like fire beneath her skin and made her knees weak.
Her stomach felt like it had become home to a hive of buzzing bees, alive with motion, humming with a sensation she didn’t know how to tame. Every nerve seemed to awaken as she relished the feeling it brought, one that made everywhere he touched buzz with a strange current of pleasure. His hand at her waist, his lips brushing hers — it was enough to make her lose focus, to forget who she was supposed to be.
She was still savoring it when she suddenly felt him pull away, leaving her lips tingling, much to her disappointment. For a moment, her eyes fluttered open, dazed, before the reality of what just happened returned like a slap. Her face was tinged red, burning with heat she couldn’t disguise. As much as her body wanted to continue the kiss, she knew better. She hurriedly slid into the car, her movements quick and slightly clumsy, moving close to the door as if to create distance.
Dante slid in right after her, composed as always, settling himself comfortably on the seat as if nothing at all had happened. His expression was unreadable — calm, detached, and entirely unbothered — which somehow only made her chest tighten more.
Isadora’s eyes were fixed on the window, her gaze following the sights of the city that blurred by. She clenched her fists tightly on her lap, trying to stop herself from showing how affected she was. She couldn’t help it — she hated that she couldn’t help it — even though she knew that if she turned to look at Dante, she would find nothing there but his usual neutral expression.
After all, he had kissed her only for the sake of his family, a calculated act meant to convince those watching that they were close. It was nothing more than a gesture — a performance.
Dante didn’t speak, and his silence only made the weight in Isadora’s chest double in size. The stillness in the car was suffocating. Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the kiss, the feel of his lips, the way his hand had held her so surely — and she hated herself for it. She bit the inside of her cheek and muttered silently to herself, almost like a prayer she needed to repeat to stay grounded.
You’re here to do a job, she reminded herself. Carry his child and act like his lover until the child is born.
That was the agreement. That was all this was supposed to be. She closed her lashes over her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
Her hand rose almost on its own, trembling slightly as she brought the back of it to her lips. She wiped them quickly, not caring that Dante was seated right beside her in the car. She just needed the reminder gone — the feel of him erased.
Dante noticed, of course, but if it bothered him, he didn’t show it. He seemed completely unconcerned as he rested one arm against the car door, leaning back with effortless calm. His eyes were half-closed, his face turned slightly toward the window as if he had already forgotten the kiss altogether.
He was thinking — not about her, but about something else entirely. His thoughts lingered on every detail he’d observed earlier at the Bellini family house. Something about the visit had unsettled him.
Why is Furie’s son missing? he thought, his mind piecing together fragments of information. He had informed them weeks before about his visit, yet they acted surprised — defensive even. That was not like them. What are they up to?
He had already set enough spies around them to ensure he wasn’t taken by surprise, but a quiet unease still gnawed at him. Something wasn’t adding up, and Dante hated when things didn’t add up.
The car finally rolled to a stop in front of the company building. Dante opened the door, stepping out with his usual composed stride, not sparing a backward glance. Ettore, who had been sitting silently in the front seat, waited for him to enter the building before moving to the back, now seated near Isadora.
Her face, which had been red moments ago, slowly sobered. She sat back, staring at nothing for a few seconds before her mind snapped to something else entirely. Although she was heading home, she knew that her next destination would have to be the hospital.
Her sister.
The thought of her sister’s fragile state had barely settled in her mind when her phone buzzed sharply against her palm. A message — from the director.
Her brows furrowed as she opened it, scanning the short text. The message was brief but firm: she was to come in for the day.
Her lips parted slightly. She had previously asked to be exempted — had pleaded for the day off — and her request had been accepted. So why now?
’Elisa has her mother and father!’ Isadora thought bitterly, guilt flickering in her chest. She buried it quickly, forcing the emotion down before it could reach the surface. There wasn’t room for guilt right now.
She straightened in her seat, her tone clipped as she directed the driver to head straight to the set instead of home and back to the hospital she had intended to go. Ettore immediately relayed the instructions, giving precise directions while she sat back, staring blankly out the window as the car changed direction.
The weather was bright, sunlight spilling through the glass, but Isadora felt none of it. Inside, she was cold. Her chest felt heavy, her thoughts circling the same tight loop as the city sped by.
When they arrived, she got ready without a word. The set was buzzing with energy — crew members moving equipment, makeup artists calling out instructions, and the faint scent of foundation and hairspray thick in the air.
Isadora changed into her costume, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror — a reflection she barely recognized. She met Xarna, the lead actress, who was kind and carried herself with warmth. It was easy to like her.
But it was her first time meeting Azari — the male lead — and nothing prepared her for how striking he was in person. Dark hair that gleamed under the lights, light blue eyes that seemed almost unreal. She had seen him countless times on television, in interviews, and posters, but standing this close to him was entirely different.
She couldn’t help but stare for a moment when he approached her, his smile sharp and practiced.
"Isadora, yes?" he said smoothly. "I’ve heard about you! You have a powerful backer." frёewebηovel.cѳm
His tone caught her off guard — not rude, but not kind either. His voice carried a low hum of amusement as he continued, "...Your acting suits your character."
It wasn’t a compliment. Not entirely. His eyes moved from her face, tracing down the line of her figure in a single sweep that was too direct, too assessing — the kind of glance that made her stomach twist with discomfort.
Isadora didn’t respond. She couldn’t find the words even if she wanted to. Her jaw tightened, but she forced a polite smile.
Azari nodded faintly before stretching out his hand to her in greeting. It was expected — he was famous, beloved, and rejecting the handshake would only stir unnecessary attention. Still, every instinct in her screamed not to touch him.
She hesitated, then finally reached out to shake his hand.
The moment their palms met, he leaned in closer — too close — his breath brushing her ear as he whispered, "If you need another backer, you know where to find me."
The words dripped with innuendo, and for a moment, she froze in place, her eyes widening in shock. Anger flooded her chest so quickly it almost took her breath away, but before she could react — before she could jerk her hand away — he released her, chuckling under his breath.
He turned and walked off, arrogance rolling off him like a second skin, his shoulders squared with self-importance.
Ettore had noticed immediately. The moment Azari leaned in, he had moved closer, his protective presence hovering at her side. Isadora caught his glance — calm, watchful, but simmering with warning.
The rest of the shoot didn’t go much better. Scene after scene dragged on. Isadora forced herself to focus, burying her discomfort, her anger, and the dull ache that had been growing in her head since morning. She moved through the takes with mechanical precision, following direction after direction, until the sun began to set.
Surprisingly, the day stretched longer than usual. Night had already fallen by the time the director finally called it a day after finishing several night scenes.
By then, exhaustion had settled deep in her bones. She reached for her phone and sighed the instant she saw the screen light up — dozens of missed calls from her father.
The sight made her chest tighten. There were too many to count, and it told her everything she needed to know: her absence, after what had happened, had not gone unnoticed.
She changed quickly, slipping out of her costume and removing her makeup, scrubbing the day’s heaviness from her face. A simple pair of slacks and a plain shirt replaced the elegant costume before she walked out to find Ettore already waiting by the car.
They drove in silence. The city lights passed by in muted blurs until the familiar sight of the hospital loomed into view.
Isadora’s pulse quickened. She knew the way to her sister’s ward by heart. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled her nose as she walked through the corridor, her shoes clicking quietly against the tiled floor.
She had just reached the door when she heard voices — more than one — coming from inside. Her heart skipped. Her sister was awake.
Not hesitating, Isadora pushed open the door.
The room fell silent for a moment as several pairs of eyes turned toward her. She stood still under the weight of their stares, her breath shallow.
She barely had time to take in the sight of her sister sitting upright, pale but awake, before a familiar, sharp voice cut through the air.
"...Look who finally decides to show up!"
It was her stepmother.
The tone was mocking, grating enough to make Isadora’s jaw tighten instantly.
She didn’t respond. She ignored the comment entirely, her steps carrying her forward toward her sister, whose gaze — dark, heavy, and unreadable — met hers across the room.
And in that silence, Isadora could already tell that whatever awaited her next would not be easy.
