Chapter 181
The Mercedes purred through the rain-slicked streets of London, its tires whispering secrets to the asphalt as the city lights smeared into golden streaks outside the tinted windows. Inside, the air was thick with the remnants of whiskey and unspoken regrets, a heady cocktail that blurred the lines between reality and longing. Henry Jackson slumped against the cool leather seat, his tall frame folding in on itself like a man defeated by his own heart. His sharp features, usually so composed, were softened by the haze of alcohol, his pretty blue eyes glassy and unfocused. He turned his head slowly, the world tilting like a carnival ride, and there she was—or at least, who he desperately wanted her to be.
Isabella Voss sat beside him, her auburn hair catching the fleeting glow of passing streetlamps, transforming it into something darker, wilder in his drunken vision. She was a vision of poised elegance even now, her green eyes sharp despite the liquor, her self-made empire evident in the subtle designer cut of her blouse and the quiet authority she exuded. But to Henry, in this moment, she wasn’t Isabella. She was Eliana Bennett—the woman who’d haunted his dreams since college, with her warm brown skin, expressive honey-brown eyes, and that hopeful smile that hid a world of pain. The one who’d slipped away, entangled now in Rafael Vexley’s web of deceit and danger.
“Eliana,” Henry murmured, his voice a rough rasp, slurred at the edges like spilled ink. His hand reached out tentatively, fingers trembling as they brushed her cheek. The touch was electric, sending a jolt through his foggy mind. “God, Eliana… I’ve missed you so damn much. Why’d you have to choose him? Why Rafael? He’s… he’s a monster in a suit, all cold and calculating. But me? I’d give you everything. I’d never hurt you like that p>
Isabella froze for a heartbeat, her breath catching in her throat. She knew this wasn’t about her—the name he whispered was a ghost he couldn’t escape from, a wound that matched her own fresh scars. Her fiancé, Logan, that snake in tailored wool, was plotting her murder for her fortune, his whispers of love laced with poison. The wedding dress still hung in her closet like a shroud, the ceremony meant for tomorrow now a shattered illusion. She should have pulled away, corrected him, but pity swelled in her chest like a tide. This man, this aspiring doctor with his kind heart and hidden depths, was drowning in the same sea of loneliness she navigated. And tonight, she needed something—anything—to anchor her, to drown out the echoes of Logan’s treachery. Physical release, raw and unfiltered, to remind her she was alive, not just a target.
“Henry,” she whispered back, her voice soft but steady, not pushing him away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her hand covering his, guiding it gently along her jaw. “It’s okay. Just… let it out. We’ve both been through hell tonight p>
His eyes, misted with unshed tears and alcohol, locked onto hers. In his delirium, those green depths shifted to honey-brown, warm and inviting. “Eliana, please… see me. Really see me. I’m worth it, aren’t I? Better than him. Rafael with his billions and his secrets—he’s faking it all, you know? Sick, vulnerable, whatever lies he spins. But I’m real. I’ve loved you since college, watched you with that idiot Jason, kept quiet because I thought you’d be happy. But now… now you’re carrying his child? It should’ve been us. It should’ve been mine p>
The car glided to a stop outside The Savoy, the grand hotel’s facade looming like a gilded promise in the night. Cole, the driver, discreetly exited, leaving them in the cocoon of the backseat. Isabella’s heart ached for him, this stranger who’d become a mirror to her pain in mere hours. She didn’t mind the name; it was a balm, in a way, allowing her to lose herself without the weight of expectations. “Come on,” she said, her tone laced with gentle command. “Let’s get inside. You need to rest… or whatever comes next p>
Henry nodded, his movements clumsy as he followed her out, the cool night air slapping his face like a wake-up call that didn’t quite land. They stumbled through the lobby, arms linked, her supporting his taller frame as the concierge averted his eyes with practiced politeness. The elevator ride was a blur of mirrored walls reflecting their disheveled forms—his shirt untucked, her lipstick slightly smudged from the earlier kiss in the car.
The suite door clicked open, revealing opulent luxury: cream silk drapes framing floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames, a king-sized bed piled with plush pillows, and the faint scent of lavender from the turned-down sheets. Isabella flicked on a lamp, spreading a warm, amber glow that danced across the room. Henry swayed in the doorway, his ambition-fueled reserve shattered by the whiskey’s embrace.
“Eliana,” he breathed again, closing the distance between them with unsteady steps. His hands found her waist, pulling her close, his athletic build pressing against her slender form. “Let me show you. Just once. Let me prove I’m better. I can make you forget him—forget the danger, the lies. I’d protect you, love you right p>
Isabella’s resolve cracked under the weight of her own needs. Pity mingled with desire, a potent mix fueled by the adrenaline of her narrow escape from death’s door. Logan’s face flashed in her mind—his charming smile hiding murderous intent—and she shoved it away. “Henry… if this is what you need, what we both need… then yes.” She cupped his face, her thumbs brushing his sharp cheekbones. “But remember, it’s just tonight. Just us, chasing away the ghosts p>
Their lips met again, this time with urgency born of desperation. Henry’s kiss was fervent, sloppy from the drink, but laced with years of pent-up longing. He tasted of whiskey and sorrow, his tongue seeking hers as if to devour the pain. Isabella responded in kind, her hands sliding under his shirt, fingers tracing the warm, taut muscles of his back. She needed this—the heat, the connection—to affirm she wasn’t broken, that her body could still feel pleasure amid the chaos.
They tumbled toward the bed, clothes shedding like inhibitions. Henry’s shirt hit the floor first, revealing his toned chest, honed from late-night runs to escape his thoughts of Eliana. “Eliana… oh, God, Eliana,” he groaned, his voice muffled against her neck as he nipped at her skin, leaving faint marks that bloomed like roses. His hands fumbled with her blouse, buttons popping free one by one, exposing the lace of her bra. “You’re so beautiful. Always have been. Why didn’t you see? I’m better than Rafael—kinder, real. I’d never fake anything with you p>
To be continued p>