Flashback continues.
Their dates were a whirlwind of luxury and excitement. Each evening was more extravagant than the last, from private jets to exotic locales to candlelit dinners in the penthouse suite of the most exclusive hotels.
Isabella felt like Cinderella, swept away by a dark prince whose power was as intoxicating as it was terrifying.
Vincente was happy to make her feel like a princess.
Their dates grew more intimate with every passing day, their chemistry undeniable.
He watched her eyes light up with every new experience, her smile widening with every luxury that was laid at her feet.
On their fifth date, Vincente took Isabella to a private island, the turquoise waters lapping gently at the shore.
They dined under the stars, the candlelight playing across her face as they shared stories of their pasts.
Vincente proposed her putting an expensive ring on her finger.
The ring was a flawless diamond, the size of a small planet, set in a bed of white gold that gleamed like the moon on a cloudless night.
"Marry me, Isabella," Vincente said, his voice low and intense.
Her eyes widened, the candlelight reflecting in her wide pupils.
The ring glittered on her finger, a silent promise of a life she had never dared to dream of.
She could see was him, the rest faded away—his strong jaw, his piercing eyes, the way his thumb traced a gentle path along her knuckle.
She instantly said yes and they shared a passionate kiss.
Their wedding was held in a grand cathedral, the walls echoed with the vows they exchanged, the words a promise that seemed to hang in the very air.
Isabella looked like an angel in a dress that cost more than the yearly earnings of her.
The gossip spread faster than wildfire. The mysterious billionaire and the sweet café waitress. It was a story that seemed straight out of a fairy tale.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
One evening after 3 months of their marriage.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Vincent's hand in hers was warm and reassuring as they strolled through the moonlit gardens of his mansion, the soft rustle of their footsteps the only sound to break the silence. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice a low murmur.
Isabella nodded.
Vincent's hand grew tighter around hers, pulling her closer as they approached a hidden entrance.
It was a part of the mansion she'd never seen before. He led her down a flight of stairs into a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of leather and aged oak.
The walls were lined with shelves of books, and in the center stood a large, ornate desk.
"Welcome to your small library," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "I know you love to read so I told my workers to make this room a small library for you."
Isabella looked around, her eyes wide with wonder.
The bookshelves stretched to the high ceilings, filled with leather-bound tomes that promised tales of love, adventure, and intrigue.
The room was a sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the pages of a book and escape the shadowy world that was now her reality.
Vincent's eyes searched hers, looking for a reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with something that might have been nerves.
Isabella nodded, unable to find the words to express her gratitude. "It's... it's perfect," she whispered.
Vincent's smirk grew, the satisfaction clear in his eyes. "I thought you might," he said, his voice a warm caress.
He led her to a shelf in the corner, "Choose any book you like," he said, his hand lingering on her shoulder before he moved away.
Vincent stood before her. His posture was that of a man who owned not just the room but the very air they breathed.
He leaned against the desk, his arms folded across his chest, watching her choosing a book.
.
Vincent's eyes followed her every movement, his gaze as intense as the moon outside.
After a moment, she chose a book, a classic novel she had always wanted to read but never had the chance.
She opened it, her eyes scanning the first page.
Such memories are sweet as honey. But they don't last long when they bitter memories flooded them.🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐
At one eveningִ ࣪𖤐
The yacht was very eye catching, its sleek lines and gleaming chrome fixtures reflected the sunlight like a thousand shimmering diamonds.
The deck was lined with plush lounges, the cushions a stark contrast to the cold steel beneath.
The party was in full swing, the sound of laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses mingling with the gentle lap of waves against the boat.
Vincent's yacht, named "The Castellanos' Embrace,".
The party was an exclusive affair, the guest list a who's who of the city's elite. Politicians, celebrities, and business.
The event was a masquerade ball to celebrate the anniversary of Vincente Castellanos' rise to power within the mafia empire.
The atmosphere was one of decadence. The guests were dressed in elaborate costumes, their faces obscured by intricate masks that allowed them to indulge in the anonymity of the night.
The deck of The Castellanos' Embrace was transformed into a floating masquerade ballroom, complete with a live orchestra playing a sultry tango.
Vincente, the man of the hour, was dressed as a Venetian nobleman from a bygone era.
His attire was tailored to perfection, the velvet jacket a deep shade of midnight blue that brought out the coldness of his eyes. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and chiseled chest, leaving little to the imagination.
His mask, an elaborate creation of feathers and crystal, adorned his face like a crown of darkness.
His hair, usually slicked back in a severe style, was instead left to fall in soft waves around his face, lending him an air of mysterious charm that made him all the more irresistible.
Isabella, on the other hand, had been transformed into a vision of ethereal beauty.
Her dress was a confection of white silk and lace, the fabric so delicate it seemed to float around her like a cloud.
The neckline plunged low, revealing the creamy expanse of her skin, and the corset cinched her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure.
Her mask, a simple yet elegant design of white feathers and pearls, framed her face like a halo, drawing attention to her full, pouting lips that were painted a deep shade of crimson.
Her hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, the strands shimmering with the same golden highlights that danced on the waves around them.
She was a vision that could make even the most stoic of men weak in the knees, and Vincente was no exception. His eyes devoured her, a hunger in their depths.
Thanks for reading.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟