**Chapter 7: Fury and Fire**
Isabella stormed through the halls of Blackwood, her heart pounding with a mix of rage and confusion. The stolen kiss with Vincent haunted her, its warmth now tainted by the harsh reality of the situation. She had crossed a line, and she hated herself for it. But what made her blood boil even more was how easily he had gotten under her skin. How effortlessly he had made her lose control.
She had just returned from the basement with Claire, the stolen files safely tucked away in her office. They had found what they needed—evidence that could bring down Dr. Graves and expose the twisted experiments happening at Blackwood. But even with that small victory, Isabella felt nothing but anger.
Anger at herself, at Vincent, and at the entire world that seemed to be conspiring against her.
She slammed her office door behind her, the sound echoing in the empty room. She leaned against it, her fists clenched at her sides. Every time she thought of Vincent—his smirk, his touch, the way he had dared to kiss her—it made her want to scream. She was furious at him for making her feel something she knew was dangerous, something that distracted her from what really mattered.
And yet, beneath that anger, there was a gnawing fear. Fear that she had already fallen too far, that her feelings for him would cloud her judgment.
She was still fuming when a sharp knock on the door startled her. She didn't need to guess who it was.
"Come in!" she barked, not bothering to hide the venom in her voice.
Vincent stepped inside, his usual calm demeanor intact, though his eyes flashed with something darker. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, mirroring her earlier stance.
"Isabella," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a mocking edge. "You seem upset."
"Upset?" she snapped, her eyes blazing as she marched toward him. "Upset doesn't even begin to cover it. What the hell are you playing at, Vincent? Do you think this is some kind of game?"
Vincent's expression didn't change, but she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something dangerous. "I don't play games, Doctor. You of all people should know that by now."
Isabella clenched her fists tighter, resisting the urge to lash out. "You manipulated me," she hissed. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you kissed me. You took advantage of the situation, of me."
Vincent's eyes narrowed, his calm exterior beginning to crack. "Is that what you think? That I manipulated you?" His voice grew colder, sharper. "Maybe you should take a good look in the mirror, Isabella. You wanted it just as much as I did."
His words hit her like a slap to the face. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but she couldn't. She hated him for being right, for knowing her better than she knew herself.
"This is exactly what you do, isn't it?" she spat, her voice shaking with fury. "You find people's weaknesses and exploit them. You twist everything to your advantage."
Vincent stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "And what if I do? It's survival, Doctor. In here, you either learn to play the game, or you lose. And I don't like losing."
Isabella glared up at him, refusing to back down. "I'm not one of your pawns, Vincent. I won't let you control me."
He scoffed, his eyes darkening further. "Control you? You think I want to control you? If anything, Isabella, you're the one who's been getting under my skin. And that… that's a problem."
For the first time, she saw something raw in his expression—something that looked a lot like anger and jealousy. It caught her off guard, but she refused to let it weaken her resolve.
"So, this is about you not getting your way?" she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Poor Vincent, not used to someone saying no to him?"
Vincent's jaw clenched, and he stepped even closer, his breath hot against her skin. "Watch it, Isabella. You're walking a dangerous line."
"I'm not afraid of you," she shot back, though her heart was pounding.
His eyes blazed with a mix of anger and something else, something she couldn't quite place. "Maybe you should be."
For a moment, they stood there, locked in a tense standoff, neither willing to back down. The air between them crackled with intensity, a potent mix of fury and desire that neither could ignore.
Then, without warning, Vincent grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He pulled her closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body against hers.
"You think you're angry now?" he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "You haven't seen anything yet. You have no idea what this place can do to you, what it can turn you into. But you're starting to find out, aren't you?"
Isabella's breath caught in her throat. His words were like a cold blade slicing through her anger, leaving behind a chilling realization. He was right—this place was changing her. And she hated that he saw it, that he knew it.
But she refused to let him win. With a sudden burst of strength, she yanked her wrist free from his grip and pushed him back, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"I won't let this place destroy me," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "And I won't let you use me for whatever twisted game you're playing."
Vincent stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Then, slowly, a dark smile curled on his lips.
"We'll see about that, Doctor," he murmured. "We'll see."
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Isabella standing there, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched him go, her emotions a chaotic swirl of anger, fear, and something else—something she didn't want to admit.
As the door clicked shut behind him, she slumped against her desk, her hands trembling. She had just gone toe-to-toe with Vincent Moretti, and somehow, she had held her ground. But the battle was far from over.
And deep down, she knew that the next time they clashed, it would be even more intense. The stakes were rising, and neither of them was willing to back down.
But for now, she let the anger burn away her doubts, using it as fuel to keep moving forward. Because no matter what, she had a job to do. And she couldn't afford to let Vincent—or her own conflicted feelings—stand in her way.