[The scenario has changed to 15 days ago]

The club was alive with pounding bass and flashing lights, a perfect escape for anyone wanting to lose themselves in the rhythm. But for me, the music was just noise, and the lights only made the shadows in my mind darker.

I had come here with my friends to try and forget, to drown my sorrows in a sea of strangers, but the recent betrayal was too fresh.

My boyfriend—no, my ex-boyfriend—had been cheating on me. And with Nikita, my supposed best friend. The image of them together, tangled in each other in that hotel room, was seared into my mind.

I tried to keep a mask of indifference, but inside, I was seething. I didn’t want to be here, but I also didn’t want to be alone. My friends, sensing my mood, left me some space, but Sneha, always perceptive, slid into the seat next to me.

“So, what’s the next plan?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes probing.

I took a deep gulp of the scotch in my hand, feeling the burn as it slid down my throat. “Nothing,” I replied, my voice flat. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes clink together, trying to keep my anger from bubbling over.

“I don’t give a f*ck about them,” I added, more to convince myself than Sneha. The words tasted bitter in my mouth, and I knew they weren’t entirely true. I did care—too much, maybe. But I couldn’t show that. Not here. Not now.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with his name. Again. My heart twisted in my chest, a cruel reminder of the pain he’d caused. How many times had he tried to call tonight? I’d lost count. Each missed call felt like a tiny victory, a refusal to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I cursed under my breath, “F*ck!”

"Don't pick up; there's a lot of hunks here. Choose one and bang him," Sneha winked, mischief glinting in her eyes.

I smirked, letting her words wash over me. "Not a bad idea," I replied, though my smile felt hollow. "But life's been throwing me curveballs lately."

It wasn't just my ex; the breakup was a wound, but the real turmoil came from my parents. Their marriage was on the brink, and my dad, despite everything, was desperately trying to hold it together.

I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of it all. This was supposed to be a night of distraction, but my thoughts were heavy with family drama and broken trust. I needed a break, a moment to forget. Without another word, I stood up and headed to the second floor, where I had already spotted a potential distraction—a tall, handsome guy nursing a whiskey.

As I approached, I hesitated for a brief moment, but then I squared my shoulders and tapped him lightly on the arm.

"Excuse me!"

He turned, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Y... Yes?" His voice was deep, and the look in his eyes was both curious and amused.

I glanced at his glass, then met his gaze, letting a playful smile curl my lips.

"Will you accompany me for a dance?"

He chuckled softly, looking down at his drink before meeting my eyes again.

"I don't know how to dance," he admitted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"So, I guess I'm going to break a pretty lady's heart tonight."

I pressed my lips together, crossing my arms as I watched him hesitate. His initial rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. It wasn't just about being turned down; my friends were watching, and it had become a matter of pride. I couldn't let this moment slip away, not with all eyes on me.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to push my boundaries. I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. With a confident smile, I leaned in and said, "We might end up banging each other, dear."

His friends exchanged glances, their eyes widening in surprise. The look of shock on their faces was almost comical. I flashed a flirtatious smile and turned, descending the stairs to the first floor, giving him a playful wink as I left. He watched me go, sipping his whisky with an amused grin.

I reached the dance floor, letting the music wash over me. The beat was infectious, and I began to move, swaying to the rhythm. The energy of the crowd was electric, and I felt myself getting lost in the moment. As I danced, I glanced back up to the second floor, my eyes searching for him.

Sure enough, his friends were whispering urgently in his ear, gesturing towards me. He listened with a bemused expression, then nodded. A slow smile spread across his face as he set his drink down and made his way toward the stairs.

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of triumph. He was coming to me, just as I knew he would. My confidence grew, and I focused on my moves, letting my body express what words couldn't.

As I turned, I spotted him standing right behind me, a playful smile on his lips. I couldn't resist grinning back as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Leaning in close, I whispered in his ear, “I thought someone told me he might break my heart.”

The music was deafening, so he leaned in as well, his breath warm against my ear.

“He thought it would be a bad idea to break a pretty lady’s heart,” he shouted back, his voice filled with a mix of charm and sincerity.

I smirked and pressed my back against his front, feeling the warmth of his body through our clothes. His hands found my waist, and together we moved to the rhythm of the music, our hips swaying in sync. The connection was electric, the crowd around us fading into the background as we found our own groove.

He leaned in again, his voice loud over the music. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella!” I shouted back, my lips close to his ear.

“And yours?” I asked, turning my head slightly to catch his eyes.

“Chris!” he replied, a smile lighting up his face.

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Chris, huh?”

“So, Chris, you said you don’t know how to dance, but it seems you’re pretty good at it.”

Chris laughed; a deep, infectious sound that made me smile even wider.

“The credit goes to all my partners,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of genuine modesty.

Dancing with Chris was exhilarating, his playful demeanor and easy charm drawing me in. As we moved, I found myself checking him out, appreciating his tall frame and confident presence. He caught me looking and chuckled, clearly amused.

"So, what's your age?" he asked, his tone light but direct.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you want to know?" I teased, waving my brows playfully.

Chris leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't I need to know the age of the girl I'm going to bang?" His cheeky grin made me laugh out loud.

I decided to play along, stepping closer until our faces were inches apart.

"I'm 19," I whispered, my voice sultry, "but I have the magic to take you to heaven from the bed."

The words were bold, but I was enjoying the banter, the flirtation, and the thrill of the night.

Just as we were getting into the moment, Sneha suddenly appeared, her hand grabbing mine. "Isabella, your mom wants to talk to you," she shouted over the music.

I barely had time to process her words before she started pulling me away from Chris. I turned back, wanting to at least say goodbye, but the crowd swallowed us up too quickly. Chris's face flashed with surprise; he tried to talk, but before that, Sneha took me out of there.

We came out and Sneha handed me the phone.

I saw my mom's number flashing on the screen and answered with a sigh, irritation seeping into my voice.

"Yes, Mom?"

“What are you doing in the club?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise around me.

I sighed, glancing at Sneha. She avoided my gaze, guilt written all over her face. She had told my mom.

“Don’t you know what people do in the club?”

My mom's anger was palpable, a familiar sting in her tone, “Don’t be like your dad, Isabella. You’re just following his path.”

“Will you please stop it, Mom?” I pressed my lips together, trying to contain my frustration.

It hurt to hear her compare me to my dad, especially after everything that had happened.

My dad’s affair had shattered our family. My mom had caught him with another woman, and the betrayal had cut deep. I understood her pain because I was going through something similar. My ex had cheated on me with my best friend, Nikita, and the betrayal still felt raw.

I couldn't bring myself to suggest my mom patch things up with my dad, knowing how disrespectful and painful that would be.

“I can’t, Isabella. You are my one and only child. Everything I have, it is all yours. You are the heir of my property,” Mom said, her voice a mixture of pleading and determination.

I knew what she was trying to convey. My mom was a remarkably successful woman, with properties and a company to her name. In terms of wealth and accomplishments, she surpassed my dad. I often wondered why, despite all this, my dad chose to cheat on her. Was it simply in a man’s nature, or was there something deeper that I couldn't understand?

I took a deep breath, recognizing the tug-of-war she was in, trying to keep me on her side.

“When is your final hearing?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from our painful history.

“Your dad is intentionally delaying it,” she replied, irritation seeping into her voice. “He’s trying to drag this out as long as he can.”

Suddenly, I heard her tone change completely. She was speaking sweetly to someone else, and it caught me off guard. The voice on the other end was unmistakably male.

My curiosity piqued, I narrowed my eyes.

“Mom!”

“Listen, I’ve booked a ticket for you, darling,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

I blinked, taken aback.

“Mom, what?”

“It’s for tomorrow. I have a surprise for you.”

My mind raced, trying to grasp what she meant.

“Mom, I have my last semester exam soon. I can’t just go to Italy now.”

“Oh, I’ll handle everything, Isabella. And you know what? I’m going to have a special day in my life, and I want you here with me.”

Her words left me more confused than ever.

“Special day?” I echoed, trying to make sense of it all.

“It’s a surprise, baby. Just come tomorrow. You’ll find out then.”

With that, she hung up the call, leaving me standing there, phone still pressed to my ear.

I stared at the screen, feeling a mix of confusion.

Was she really that excited about the divorce? Or was something else going on? The idea of her being so happy at a time like this seemed out of place, yet her tone had been unmistakably cheerful.

Milan Malpensa Airport buzzed with activity as travelers hurried to their destinations. I stood outside, the warm Italian sun beating down on me, my frustration mounting. My mom had arranged everything for this trip, so why was no one here to pick me up? I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces.

Just as my patience was wearing thin, I spotted Mr. Martin, my mom’s secretary, making his way toward me. Relief washed over me.

“Ms. Isabella!” he called out.

I raised an eyebrow, muttering under my breath, “Thank God.”

“Finally, my mom has sent someone to pick me up,” I said aloud, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Without waiting for a response, I walked briskly toward the car he had arrived in. Mr. Martin hurried to keep up, opening the door for me.

I slid into the back seat with a stern face, choosing to remain silent. He quickly managed my luggage and took his place beside the driver.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the traffic. For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then Mr. Martin broke the silence.

“How are you, Isabella? It has been three years since we last met.”

I exhaled, “I am fine, Uncle.”

“You have changed a lot,” he remarked, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over me. ‘Maybe I have,’ I thought, but instead of voicing my thoughts, I asked, “Where is she?”

“Ma’am is at home,” he replied.

His words brought a wave of silence over me.

‘Yes, why would she come? I’ve expected too much from her. She didn’t think to come to the airport herself,’ I thought, bitterness creeping into my mind.

‘Whatever it is, as long as she fulfills my demands, I’ll listen to her.’

I leaned back in my seat, trying to shake off the disappointment. I was tired—tired of the drama, the uncertainty, the endless expectations. Closing my eyes, I sought the temporary escape of sleep.

The gentle motion of the car lulled me, and soon I drifted off, the world around me fading. It felt like only moments had passed when I was pulled from my sleep by Mr. Martin’s voice.

“Miss!”

“Ms. Isabella!”

I cracked my eyes open in irritation and looked at Mr. Martin. He smiled. "We are home."

I slowly got out of the car and gazed at my mom’s mansion. Raising my brows, I entered with a nonchalant face.

As I stepped into the drawing hall, the place seemed oddly empty, though music played softly. Mr. Martin set my luggage down and left without a word. I placed my laptop bag on the couch and called out, “Mom!”

There was no response. Annoyed, I walked over and turned off the music, the sudden silence amplifying my frustration. I looked around, feeling a sense of unease.

“Mom, are you home?” I called again, my voice echoing slightly in the large space.

Just then, I heard a man’s voice behind me. “Isabella!”

I turned back as I heard my name. To my amazement, a half-naked man stood before me. My lips pressed together in shock as my eyes roamed around the room, then back to him, wide with surprise.

It wasn't just his sudden appearance that rendered me speechless. It was how incredibly handsome he was. His abs were chiseled, his muscles and arms were well-defined. His facial features were sharp, like something out of the dark romance novels I devoured. But amidst all this perfection, what struck me most was the bowl he held in his hand.

I narrowed my eyes, puzzled. ‘Is he my mom’s cook?’

I wondered, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I asked, “You?”

He smiled, a charming, disarming smile. “Ah, I am Ezekiel.”

I narrowed my eyes and raised my brows. “So, when did you join here as a cook?”

He parted his lips to say something but then chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Then he answered me, “Umm… It’s just a few weeks, you can say.”

“Oh…” I crossed my arms, giving him a once-over from bottom to top.

Ezekiel noticed my scrutiny and arched an eyebrow. “Are you done checking me out?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not checking you out,” I retorted.

“I’m just wondering how my mom ended up hiring such a handsome cook.”

Ezekiel pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath before answering me, “Well, I guess you’ll have to ask her that, and I take it as a compliment, Ms.”

I smiled, feeling a bit lighter. Maybe my time here wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of staying in Italy without my friends had been daunting, but Ezekiel’s presence suggested it might be more interesting than I had anticipated.

“And I would be honored to stay here as your cook rather than your mom’s boyfriend,” he added with a teasing smile.

My smile faded immediately.

Did I hear him right?

“What?” I stuttered, my mind racing.

Before I could process what he had just said, I spotted my mom coming downstairs, dressed in her nightwear.

Seeing me, she called out, “Isabella!”

I was already too shocked after hearing Ezekiel. In that moment, I realized what the surprise my mom had wanted to reveal was. She moved to hug me, but I didn’t hug her back.

I asked directly, skipping any pleasantries, “Who is he? Is this your surprise, Mom?”

Her expression sobered, eyes flicking from me to Ezekiel.

“Isabella, stop it. Come to my room.”

I arched my brows and pulled my arm from her grasp. She was clearly worried I’d cause a scene right there in the foyer. And she was right to worry—I was ready to.

Mom grabbed my hand again, more firmly this time, and said, “Let’s go.”

I looked at her, then at Ezekiel. He smiled at me slightly, but I turned away from him in irritation. I followed her to her room, my mind buzzing with the thing I heard.

Once we were inside, she closed the door and turned to face me.

“What is that behavior, Isabella?”

I crossed my arms, trying to contain my frustration.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone. And you spring it on me like this?”

She sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“I thought to give you a surprise, honey,” my mom said, her voice pleading for understanding.

I pressed my lips together, trying to sober myself. This was too much to process, and I couldn’t believe what my mom was doing.

“Surprise?” I chuckled mockingly.

“Surprise me with what, Mom?”

I looked directly into her eyes. She sighed heavily, “I am sorry, I know right now you can’t accept Ezekiel as your dad.”

“And you know he has his own business, besides being the heir of a famous university here. He is too perfect for me.”

I was speechless, hearing my mom. She was totally engrossed in this man. It was as if she had completely moved on from everything else.

“Mom, what is his age?” I asked, the question burning inside me. Ezekiel seemed younger than my mom, and I needed to know.

Mom bit her lower lip, hesitating for a moment before she sighed deeply and spoke.

“He is 25 years old.”

“You are f*cking 14 years older than him. How could you do that, Mom? Do you think he will stay with you?” I exploded, unable to contain my fury. The age difference was staggering, and I couldn’t fathom how she believed it would work.

“He is literally 5 years older than me.”

“Not 5 years, Isabella,” Mom corrected me.

“It’s 6 years.”

I arched my brows and replied with even more annoyance, “This month I am going to be 20. So yeah, it’s 5. How can you date a boy so young, Mom?”

“Isabella!” Mom raised her voice, clearly feeling a bit offended. I averted my gaze, unable to look at her.

I wasn’t one of those typical girls who couldn’t accept their mom dating someone. I had no problem with her finding happiness again. But the problem was the absurdity of her dating someone 14 years younger. It just didn’t make sense to me.

“I didn’t think that you would talk like a typical girl,” Mom said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I arched my brows slightly, feeling the sting of her words. Before I could respond, we heard a knock on the door. Mom quickly regained her composure, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t as good an actress as she was.

Ezekiel cracked the door open. I shot him an angry look.

“Darling, why are you knocking?” Mom said as she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ezekiel looked at me with a smile, but his eyes told me he understood that Mom had scolded me. I rolled my eyes, turning away from them.

“Kathrine,” he said gently, “I thought it would be good if I knocked. She’s your daughter, after all. You would have some personal talks with her.”

“What?” Mom chuckled.

“We are family. So, there is nothing that I should tell her privately.”

The way she said it made my skin crawl. Was this what she considered family now? A man almost my age playing the role of a father figure?

Mom hugged him, and I watched them closely. Ezekiel looked at me, a hesitant smile playing on his lips as he patted Mom’s back. The sight of their lovey-dovey display made my teeth grit in annoyance.

“At least he has some sense of manners, not like you,” I snapped, unable to hold back.

With that, I turned and walked out of the room. I could hear Mom calling my name, her voice filled with frustration and concern, but I didn’t respond. I needed to get away to clear my head from the overwhelming emotions.

“Isabella!” she called after me, her voice echoing down the hallway.

I kept walking, not looking back. I needed space to process everything.

Ezekiel’s POV.

I was in the kitchen, indulging in one of my favorite hobbies... cooking. After a hectic schedule, it was my way to unwind. The loud music blasting from the speakers amplified the energy, making the experience even more enjoyable. Suddenly, the music stopped. Surprised, I stepped out of the kitchen and spotted a girl with shiny, reddish hair glowing in the sunlight.

I smiled, realizing this must be Isabella, the girl Kathrine had spoken so much about.

“Isabella!” I called out.

She turned to face me, her gaze lingering as if she were thoroughly inspecting me. I chuckled to myself, amused by her scrutiny.

She was different from her mother; that much was clear from her demeanor. She had a fierceness in her eyes, a determination that was both intriguing and intimidating. I decided not to interrupt her, letting her take her time.

And after a while, she asked who I am.

I introduced myself, but Isabella assumed I was her mom’s cook. That was quite interesting, and I felt that my vibes could match with Kathrine’s daughter. I thought I could make her my friend easily, so I teased her a bit before clarifying who I actually was. However, it seemed it was a bad idea. Her smile faded away in a second, as if the sky had come crashing down on her.

Before I could say anything more, Kathrine appeared. I could tell Isabella was shocked and had no idea her mom had a boyfriend. I understood her feelings; I had faced something similar once. Kathrine led her to her room, and I watched them go, noting Isabella’s somber expression.

I returned to the kitchen and sighed, placing my palms on the cool marble table. The encounter had left me feeling uneasy. But my curiosity got the better of me, so I made my way to the second floor and knocked on the door. Hearing Kathrin’s permission, I cracked it open.

As I opened the door, my gaze locked with Isabella’s. Her eyes were filled with anger, a stark contrast to her mother’s more composed demeanor.

Kathrine hugged me, but I felt a bit awkward, especially with Isabella standing right there. Her expression was a mix of shock and frustration, and I could tell she wasn’t comfortable with the situation. When Kathrine tried to console her, Isabella didn’t take it well. She walked out of the room, leaving us alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kathrine sighed heavily, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I don’t know what her problem is. I thought she would accept us.”

I gently placed my palms on her shoulders, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Give her some time, Kathrine. This is a lot for her to process.”

Kathrine nodded, though the worry didn’t leave her eyes.

I gave her a comforting squeeze.

“It’ll get better. Now, get ready; you have to go to the office.”

She returned my smile, albeit a bit forced, and nodded. As I turned to leave the room, a thought struck me, and I paused at the door.

“Kathrine,” I began, turning back to face her, “can I try to talk to her?”

Kathrine raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“You can try, but I know Isabella. She’s stubborn. I have a feeling she’ll just insult you.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

“Let me try,” I insisted.

Kathrine nodded, and I left the room, thinking about how to approach Isabella. I knew winning her over would be challenging, especially after the way things had gone earlier. Not knowing much about her tastes, I decided to take a simple approach—I made a piece of chocolate cake, hoping it might serve as a peace offering.

With the cake in hand, I walked to her room. When I got there, I found the door locked. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should disturb her, but then I knocked lightly.

From inside, I heard her voice, laced with frustration. “Mom, please don’t disturb me. I’m not in the mood to talk about your and his relationship.”

I sighed, realizing this was going to be harder than I thought. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up. “I’m not your mom,” I replied, waiting for any kind of response. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and just when I thought she might ignore me, the door opened.

Isabella stood there, her expression guarded as she gave me a stern look.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice flat.

I held up the plate with the cake, offering her a small smile.

“May I come in?”

Isabella didn’t say anything, just stepped back to let me in. I took her silence as a reluctant acceptance and walked into her room. The first thing that struck me was the mess—clothes, books, and random items were scattered all over the floor, as if she had tossed them in a fit of frustration. I couldn’t help but sigh heavily, though I managed to smile.

“You are really so mean,” I said, half-jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

Isabella arched an eyebrow, turning to face me with her arms crossed defensively. “What did you say?”

I put the plate with the cake on a small table, looking back at the mess.

“Mean,” I repeated, nodding toward the chaos in the room.

“I mean, look at what you’ve done. And for what? Who are you wasting all this energy on?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze shifting away from me, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. It was clear that something was bothering her deeply, something she wasn’t ready to talk about yet. I could see the tension in her posture, the way her jaw clenched slightly. It wasn’t just anger—it was hurt, confusion, and maybe even a bit of fear.

My voice softened as I took a step closer, careful not to push too hard.

“Is this because you’re angry with your mom?”

Isabella’s eyes flicked back to me, and for a moment, I thought she might finally open up. But instead, she just shrugged and gave a slight smile.

“It’s not about her, Mr.”

“Maybe it’s you.”