Chapter 138: The Drunken Heiress

Isabella stood frozen on the balcony, her hands numbing against the cold glass of the wine bottle.

’Arrangements.’

The word sat in her chest like an iron weight. She forced her face to stay completely blank, tightening her jaw until her muscles ached.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter. Her arrangement with Aaron Kazarov was built on cold, hard transactions, plain and simple.

He offered her protection and power; she gave him a convenient match. There was no love in it. He hadn’t promised her anything resembling faithfulness, and she certainly hadn’t asked for it. He could sleep with half the city for all she cared.

Or at least, that was the lie she repeated in her mind as her throat burned.

What actually stung, the ugly, twisting knot tightening in her stomach was the humiliating reality that she had to learn it from a stranger.

Klara spoke of Aaron’s habits with casual familiarity, while Isabella sat in the dark like a fool, thinking she knew the man who held her hand in public.

"He can do whatever he pleases," Isabella said, her voice dropping into a flat, sharp register. "It’s none of my business."

Klara took a quiet drag from her cigarette, her eyes narrowing as she watched Isabella’s rigid posture. "Of course he can."

"I’m not saying he can’t," Isabella added, her breath coming a little too fast.

"You’re saying it like you want to stab him with that bottle," Klara observed smoothly.

Isabella didn’t answer. To shut down the sudden, overwhelming ache in her chest before it could turn into something soft and pathetic, she lifted the wine bottle to her lips. She didn’t sip it this time.

She tipped her head back and drank continuously, letting the heavy, dark alcohol flood her throat, swallowing greedily until the liquid washed over her chin and spilled onto her collarbone.

"Jesus Christ," Klara muttered, leaning forward to grab the glass neck. "Slow down."

Isabella tipped the bottle higher, only to hear the hollow air gurgling inside it. She pulled it back, blinking her unseeing eyes in mild confusion, her balance tilting slightly as the world gave a sudden, lazy lurch.

"Where’s the rest?" Isabella asked, her words slurring just a fraction at the edges.

"You finished it," Klara said dryly.

"No, I didn’t."

"You absolutely did. I watched you drown it."

"Then give me yours," Isabella demanded, reaching out blindly into the space between them. Her hand brushed against Klara’s wrist, her fingers clumsy.

"No," Klara said, pulling her bottle out of reach.

"Why?"

"Because you’re drinking like you’re trying to drown a witness," Klara said, her tone dropping its playful edge as she realized just how fast the alcohol had hit the younger woman. She grabbed Isabella’s upper arm to steady her. "Ah. So this is about him."

"Everything isn’t about Aaron," Isabella snapped, her feet swaying over the stone floor. She tried to pull her arm back, but her knees felt surprisingly soft, like warm wax.

"You just said his name like you were cursing a priest," Klara replied, pulling Isabella’s shoulder closer so she wouldn’t slide down the railing.

"I’m fine," Isabella insisted, her voice rising in stubborn protest. "I’m not drunk. I’m... slightly tipsy."

"You’re swaying like a reed in a storm."

"The balcony is moving," Isabella argued, her chin lifting with defensive pride.

"The balcony is attached to the building, sweetheart."

"Then the building is moving."

Before Klara could answer, the heavy double doors leading out from the main ballroom creaked open.

The sharp, heavy tread of leather dress shoes cut through the night air, accompanied by a lighter, hurried set of steps.

"I see you two have become friends," a deep, polished voice remarked.

Isabella recognized the cold, calm tone instantly. Aaron.

Beside him stood Matteo Moretti, who took one look at his wife holding up a flushed, half-leaning Isabella with an empty wine bottle rolling near their feet, and let out a long, exhausted breath.

"We bonded over wine and emotional repression," Klara announced cheerfully, not bothering to straighten up.

Aaron didn’t laugh. His gaze locked onto Isabella’s wobbly stance, his dark brows drawing together in a heavy, dangerous line. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.

"What happened here?" Aaron asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"We had a conversation," Klara replied smoothly.

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to the empty glass bottle resting against the balcony wall. "That explains the wine?"

"It was a very long conversation."

Matteo quickly stepped past Aaron, moving directly toward his wife before the quiet tension in the air could turn into something worse. "Klara. Why is Isabella drunk?"

"I gave her a bottle," Klara said, throwing her hands up in mock innocence.

"A glass?" Matteo pressed, his fingers wrapping around Klara’s waist to pull her back.

"A bottle."

"Klara," Matteo said, his voice laced with a stern, warning edge.

"I didn’t know she’d drink the entire thing at once," Klara defended casually, shrugging her dark shoulders. "She took it like a challenge."

While Matteo kept a firm hand on his wife, Aaron closed the distance between himself and Isabella in two long strides. He didn’t yell, nor did he snatch her roughly. He simply reached out and swept his broad arm around her waist, lifting her effortlessly away from Klara’s side and tucking her firmly against his chest.

Isabella’s head spun as her feet left the ground for a fraction of a second before he set her down against his body. The smell of his expensive cologne, cedarwood and faint tobacco, wrapped around her senses, warm and overwhelming.

"Put me down," Isabella muttered, her hand weakly slapping against his solid chest. "I can stand."

"You can barely hold your head up," Aaron said, his arm tightening like an iron band around her back to keep her upright.

"Then stop holding me!"

"You’re falling, Isabella."

"That is a complete lie," she declared, immediately leaning the full weight of her forehead directly against his lapel because her neck suddenly felt too heavy to support her head.

Klara watched the interaction with a slow, amused grin creeping onto her lips. "She’s adorable when she’s furious."

"She’s drunk," Aaron growled, his blue eyes flashing as he glared over Isabella’s hair at Klara. "Why did you bring her out here? I told her to stay inside."

"Because she wanted fresh air," Klara countered effortlessly, leaning her hip against her husband’s side. "She’s a woman, Aaron. Not a package you left with a tracking number."

"She is blind, and right now she can barely walk," Aaron replied, his chest rumbling beneath Isabella’s cheek.

"She was blind before tonight," Klara pointed out, taking a slow sip from her own bottle. "The drunk part was my contribution."

"Klara, stop," Matteo warned softly, though his hand squeezed her hip with clear affection.

"What? I’m being honest," Klara said, her gaze shifting to Aaron with a sharp, challenging spark. "I didn’t force her. She chose to come outside. You challenged her autonomy, and she took the bait. Which means she isn’t nearly as fragile as you keep pretending she is."

"I never said she was fragile," Aaron said coldly.

Klara looked down at Isabella, who was currently clutching the fabric of Aaron’s suit jacket with both hands, muttering something incoherent into his shirt. "You don’t have to say it. You act like she’ll break if the wind blows too hard."

Matteo stepped fully between Aaron and Klara, lifting a hand to cut off the rising argument. "Aaron, take her home. My father’s guests are starting to wander near the glass doors." He glanced at his friend, his tone shifting into something quieter. "I’ll handle my wife."

Aaron held Matteo’s look for a long second before giving a short, curt nod. "Tell your father I took my leave."

He turned to carry Isabella away, but she shifted in his arms, her face turning toward the sound of Klara’s laughter. Even through the heavy haze of wine, she remembered the woman who had sat with her in the dark.

"Bye, Klara," Isabella called out, her voice slightly muffled against Aaron’s shoulder.

Klara’s expression softened just a fraction, a genuine warmth touching her dark eyes as she looked at the young woman. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Try not to kill Kazarov before breakfast."

"Klara," Aaron warned again, his tone clipped.

"What? She looks entirely capable," Klara called after them as Aaron turned and walked away, practically dragging and carrying Isabella back through the grand side exit toward the private parking courtyard.

Behind them, Matteo pulled Klara back into the shadows of the terrace, his hands firmly grasping her waist as he looked down at her with a stern, reprimanding expression. "You are absolute trouble. Do you have any idea how close he was to losing his temper?"

Klara slid her arms around Matteo’s neck, her dark eyes flashing with shameless amusement as she leaned up on her tiptoes. "You know... you look ridiculously handsome when you try to scold me."

Matteo sighed, his strict posture wavering instantly as her scent surrounded him. "Don’t try to manipulate me, Klara."

"Is it working?" she whispered against his lips.

Matteo closed his eyes for a brief second, cursing under his breath before wrapping his arm securely around her waist and pulling her flush against his body, surrendering entirely to her kiss.

Out in the cool night air of the driveway, Aaron maneuvered Isabella into the back seat of his sleek black sedan. She didn’t make it easy. She kicked her feet against the door frame, grunting in frustration as he carefully guided her legs inside.

"Stop moving," Aaron murmured, leaning over her to click the seatbelt into place.

"Dictator," Isabella muttered, her green eyes unfocused as she glared in the general direction of his voice. "Arrogant, bossy Russian bastard."

Aaron paused, his face inches from hers as he adjusted the strap across her shoulder. A small, rare twitch of amusement pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Is that what I am tonight?"

"You’re an expensive nuisance," she grumbled, her breath smelling strongly of sweet wine. "And you smell... irritatingly good."

Aaron let out a low, breathy chuckle, settling back into his seat beside her as the driver pulled out of the estate driveway. "You said that before the wine, little bird."