Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Tears welled up in Isadora's eyes until, at last, they began to fall, one by one.

"You told me pregnant women shouldn't cry, and yet here you are, making me cry again."

Victor reached up and gently brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes, his voice full of tenderness. "You're right. It's all my fault."

"Don't cry, Isadora. I never want to see you cry. If I'd known today would make you upset, I never would've told you."

Isadora wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt and trickling down to his chest. "If you keep spoiling me like this, I'm going to get used to it."

Victor's gaze softened as a small smile played on his lips. "If I spoil you, then it's my responsibility to the end."

Hearing that, Isadora only hugged him tighter.

Maybe, in a way, this could make up for the past.

She had forgotten him once-forgotten the man she loved.

Looking up, Isadora's eyes were bright and glistening as she took in the handsome face before her. He looked more mature now, but if you looked closely, you could still see the traces of that aloof young man he used to be.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a gentle, apologetic kiss to his lips, her tears still fresh on her cheeks.

In that instant, a warm, electric tenderness shot straight through Victor's heart.

Victor deepened the kiss, slipping a hand behind her head, tasting her sweetness and drawing her closer.

After a long moment, Isadora leaned against his chest, catching her breath.noveldrama

Quietly, she asked, "What if I hadn't chosen you in the end? What if I'd never opened my eyes to see you?"

Victor's eyes darkened. He'd considered that possibility, but it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

He reached out and pinched her nose, his deep voice tinged with a possessive warmth. "There are no what-ifs."

A sly smile curled at the corners of Isadora's lips, making her look like a mischievous little fox.

"I didn't realize until now, Mr. Victor Fitzgerald, just how bossy you can be."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "You're only realizing that now?"

His tone was full of teasing suggestion.

Isadora glanced up and found herself caught in his sharp, playful gaze. Her

cheeks grew warm, and she couldn't help but blush.

Victor's carefree, delighted laughter echoed around the office.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

Kemp hovered nervously in the doorway, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else. But the upper management team was waiting the conference room, and Mr. Fitzgerald was needed for the meeting.

A low voice came from inside. "Come in."

Kemp took a deep breath and opened the door, only to be met by Victor's cool, assessing gaze—a look that sent a chill straight down Kemp's spine.

"Mr. Fitzgerald, you have a finance report meeting scheduled for this afternoon. It was booked in advance."

Victor was clearly annoyed by the interruption. He lowered his gaze, but his eyes softened as they landed on Isadora. "Wait here for me, all right? If you get tired, there's a lounge through that door-take a nap if you need."

Isadora noticed, for the first time, the discreet door in the same shade as the office walls—so there was a private lounge here after all.

"Okay," she agreed softly.

After Victor left, the office was quiet except for her.

Files and contracts were spread out across the marble desk, and even a quick glance revealed numbers so large she'd need both hands to count the zeroes.

Isadora looked away. No matter how close she and Victor were, there were still boundaries she respected.

She picked up a photo frame and studied it more closely.

She remembered Pudding as a scrappy little stray-so thin, so dirty, with an

injured leg. She never imagined he'd end up so well cared for.

By now, Pudding was getting on in years. The thought made her a little sad, and

she resolved to ask Victor if they could bring Pudding home to live with them.

Meanwhile, in the spacious, sunlit

conference room, a massive table stretched nearly thirty feet from end to end. Around it sat impeccably dressed executives, their suits pressed and their expressions serious.

The screen at one end displayed The Fitzgerald Group's annual financial analysis,

a dizzying array of numbers and charts.

The end of the month marked the company's annual summit—a date everyone in

the room had circled on their calendars.