Captive Princess( Sophia Romano) novel Chapter 13

Isabella stood a short distance away, dressed in a pure white gown, looking fragile and delicate.

It wasn't Sophia.

Before Vincent could react, Isabella threw herself at him. He looked at the white figure in his arms, his body tensing almost imperceptibly.

Vincent gently pushed her away, his voice laced with a carefully measured distance. "What are you doing here?"

Isabella looked up, her eyes shining with anticipation. "I asked Marco for your flight details. I came especially to pick you up." She bit her lip, her expression turning wounded. "Vincent, aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am," Vincent said, adjusting his cuffs and avoiding her outstretched hand. "But it's windy out here. You're still weak; you can't catch a chill."

"Thanks to the medical team you arranged, I'm fully recovered," Isabella said, twirling so her white skirt fanned out like petals. She suddenly grabbed his sleeve. "Vincent, if you're not in a rush, can you come somewhere with me? I have something I want to tellyou.”

Incent glanced at his watch.

Sophia hadn’t come. She was probably still sulking. The pearl necklace might not be enough. He’d have to prepare a few Lore gifts… her favorite Italian handmade chocolates, the latest limited–edition Chanel bag, and…

Vincent?” Isabella’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Alright.” He gave Marco a subtle look, murmuring a few instructions before getting into the car with Isabella.

The New York nightscape blurred past the window as Vincent absently stroked his phone screen. Sophia’s last message was till that cold, formal bank transfer. She wouldn’t even spare him a single word

The car stopped in front of one of Manhattan’s top hotels.

The first photo: him in a high school classroom, letting Isabella rest her head on his shoulder. The afternoon sun streamed rough a stained–glass window, casting a gentle silhouette on his face.

The second photo: him on a rainy day, tilting a black umbrella toward Isabella, his own shoulder soaked.

The third photo: him at a family party, standing beside Isabella, his expression soft.

 very photo was taken from a carefully chosen angle, creating an illusion of intimacy.

Isabella walked onto the stage, blushing, her voice trembling slightly with nerves. “Vincent, do you remember the first time e met? I was reading in the St. Louis library, and you stood by the bookshelf, watching me for the longest time…”

Incent listened, his face an emotionless mask. Of course, he remembered. He’d been trying to figure out how to get rid of the