Weeks later, Isabella had earned her fame as Princess De La Rojas after her decisive encounter with the Zebra Clan. She had successfully secured the 1,000 hectares of land in the west, a coveted prize that Grandpa Fernandez had desperately wanted. Her reputation as a formidable force was well established, and she now received her orders directly from him.
One day, as Isabella was settling down at the camp, a sudden commotion broke out. Intrigued and slightly alarmed, she stepped outside to investigate. She saw Madame Gift approaching, her face etched with worry and tension. Isabella's heart sank as she sensed something was terribly wrong.
"Hello, Isabella," Madame Gift began, her voice trembling slightly. "I've got some bad news."
"Bad news?" Isabella replied, her pulse quickening. "What happened?"
Madame Gift took a deep breath. "Grandpa Fernandez is dead."
"Dead?" Isabella's voice was a mixture of shock and disbelief. "How is that even possible?"
Madame Gift lit a cigarette, her hands shaking slightly. She threw a stack of photographs onto the table. "This is how he was killed," she said, her voice heavy with emotion.
Isabella picked up the photos with trembling hands. They depicted a gruesome scene: blood-splattered walls, lifeless bodies, and amidst the chaos, a distinctive mark—a werewolf sign. Her eyes widened as she recognized it. "This sign... it's the Vega family," she whispered, her voice filled with both realization and anger.
Madame Gift nodded grimly. "I believe this is a public display of provocation by the Vegas."
Isabella's mind raced with fury and sorrow. She felt an intense need for vengeance rising within her. "So, what do we do now?" she asked, her voice cold and resolute.
Madame Gift began pacing the room, her mind working through the possible next steps. "Princess, you have been here for a while now. It's time to bring Diego back into the country to take his rightful place as the heir of the Rojas family."
At the mention of Diego, memories of their childhood flooded Isabella's mind—innocent days filled with laughter, the bond they shared, and the promises they made to each other.
Madame Gift continued, "You have been trained all along to become his protector. But first, we must give Grandpa Fernandez a proper send-off and then bring Diego back."
Isabella nodded, her resolve hardening. "I'll make sure Grandpa Fernandez gets the respect he deserves," she said, her voice firm. "And then, I'll bring Diego back. The Vegas will pay for what they've done."
Madame Gift placed a comforting hand on Isabella's shoulder. "I know you will, Princess. I know you will."
As preparations for the funeral began, the camp was engulfed in a somber atmosphere. The loss of Grandpa Fernandez was a devastating blow, and his absence was palpably felt. Isabella oversaw every detail, ensuring that her grandfather's legacy was honored with the highest respect.
The black Mercedes glided through the grand iron gates of the Rogers mansion, its tires whispering over the gravel driveway. The stately path was lined with mourning flowers—white lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums—each bouquet carefully placed as a tribute to Grandpa Fernandez. The floral arrangements created a stark yet beautiful contrast against the somber backdrop of the mansion, whose imposing stone walls were draped in black fabric.
As the car came to a smooth halt at the entrance, a goon in a sharp black suit stepped forward and opened the door. From the car emerged a dashing young man, his presence commanding immediate attention. Diego Rogers, with his chiseled features and piercing eyes, took a moment to survey the scene before him. His tailored suit clung perfectly to his athletic frame, exuding both elegance and authority.
The scent of the flowers filled the air, mingling with the heavy atmosphere of grief. Diego straightened his jacket and stepped forward, his polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel. A long line of men waited to greet him, their heads bowed in respect. Among them, at the edge, stood Isabella.
Isabella wore a sleek black gown that hugged her curves and fell elegantly to the floor. Her black heels added to her height, giving her an air of grace and poise. A small hat perched atop her head, adorned with a netted veil that partially obscured her face. Her red lipstick stood out vividly against the black attire, adding a touch of boldness to her somber look.
As Diego walked past the line of men, he acknowledged no one, his focus unwavering. Each man bowed or nodded in respect, but Diego's gaze remained fixed ahead. When he reached Isabella, she slightly bent to greet him, her movements fluid and respectful. Diego passed her without a word, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
But then, as if something had suddenly struck him, he stopped. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes finding Isabella's through the veil. For a moment, their gazes locked, an unspoken connection passing between them. Diego's expression softened ever so slightly before he turned back and continued towards the central hall.
Inside, the mansion was shrouded in mourning. Black drapes covered the tall windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Portraits of Grandpa Fernandez were adorned with wreaths, and candles flickered in silent vigil. The air was thick with sorrow, the murmur of hushed conversations blending into a melancholic symphony.
Diego approached the coffin, his steps measured and solemn. The room fell silent as he stood before the casket, his face a mask of controlled emotion. He placed a hand on the polished wood, his eyes closing briefly as he paid his respects. Behind him, the gathered family members and friends watched in reverent silence, acknowledging the return of the heir to the Rogers legacy.
Isabella stood at a distance, her eyes never leaving Diego. She watched as he paid his respects, her mind racing with memories of their shared past.
Diego stood silently before the coffin, his mind lost in a swirl of memories and emotions. After a while, he made the sign of the cross, paying his final respects. He turned and began to walk towards Grandpa Fernandez's office, his steps heavy with purpose.
Isabella watched him for a moment before following. She moved with grace, her heels clicking softly on the marble floors. As they entered the grand office, adorned with dark wood and heavy drapes, Diego walked to the large desk that once belonged to his grandfather.
"Sir," Isabella began, her voice steady and respectful. "Can we start the procession? As she continued to explain the plans, Diego abruptly cut her off.
"You handle it. Is he not also your granddad?" Diego said, his tone sharp and detached.
Isabella was momentarily taken aback. His earlier behavior had made her think he didn't recognize her, but she quickly composed herself, maintaining a straight demeanor without a trace of emotion on her face.
Diego moved closer to her, his expression softening. "Come here," he said, reaching out. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly.
"It's been so long, Isabella," he murmured.
Isabella stood still for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Yes, it has," she replied softly, her voice carrying the weight of years and unspoken words.
Isabella stepped out of the embrace, straightening her gown. "We need to complete this burial, and we have a lot to discuss," she said, her voice steady and businesslike.
Diego moved back to the chair and sat down, looking weary. "You've been with him longer than I have. Handle it as you see fit."
"Okay, sir," Isabella responded, her tone respectful and formal.
Diego's face shifted, a flicker of surprise and something deeper crossing his features. Just as he was about to speak, wanting to bridge the gap and drop the formalities, Isabella had already turned and walked out of the office, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.
Diego watched her go, a mix of frustration and admiration in his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, letting out a sigh. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to understand.