The villa in Lake Como was quiet, nestled between mountains and the shimmering lake. Isabella stood at the balcony, watching the sun set behind the hills. The golden light bathed her skin, but her mind was far from at ease.
A week had passed since they arrived in Italy. Alexander had followed her, not with demands or arrogance, but with patience. He didn't speak much, only stayed near, silently offering his presence. He had asked for a chance, and she had agreed—not out of love, but curiosity. Could a man like him truly change?
She didn't know yet.
The crisp air carried the scent of olives and cypress. Below, Alexander was tending to a small patch of garden. He wasn't wearing a suit. He looked out of place in a white shirt rolled to the elbows, dirt on his hands. But he also looked more human.
She turned back inside, walking barefoot across the stone floor. Canvases leaned against the walls, half-finished paintings. Her art had begun to change. There was more color, more risk. But still, the shadows remained in the corners.
Alex entered the room quietly. He didn't speak. He never did unless she asked. She found herself missing the intensity of his voice.
Dinner's ready, he finally said.
She nodded. Thank you.
They sat at the table near the window. A candle flickered between them, casting long shadows across their faces. She ate in silence, occasionally glancing at him.
You're trying too hard, she said suddenly.
He looked up, startled.
I mean… this. You. The garden. Cooking. It's not who you are.
Maybe I'm trying to find out who I could be.
She put her fork down. I didn't come here to fix you, Alex. I came here to find myself. You said you'd wait.
I am waiting. But I also want to prove to you that I'm not the man I was.
Then stop pretending to be someone you're not. I never asked for perfection. I just wanted honesty.
He nodded slowly. Then let me be honest. I'm terrified. Not of you leaving, but of you staying and still never trusting me again.
Trust isn't given with words, Alex. It's earned. Bit by bit.
He looked down at his plate. I know.
The candle danced between them, the flame fragile but bright.
Tell me about your mother, she said, breaking the silence.
His eyes lifted, caught off guard. She had never asked before.
She was soft-spoken. Not weak, just quiet. The kind of person who made you feel like silence was safe.
Isabella leaned forward. Did she love your father?
Yes. Too much, maybe. He didn't know how to love her back the way she deserved.
Like you and me?
Exactly like that.
Did you ever forgive him?
No. But I understand him now. And that scares me.
She studied him. The hard lines of his face, the sadness that softened his eyes.
You don't have to become him.
I already did. For a while. Until you.
She looked away, her throat tight.
I don't want to be your redemption story.
You're not. You're the reason I want one.
---
The next morning, Isabella woke before dawn. The sky was a pale lavender, and birds chirped softly in the trees. She pulled on a sweater and stepped outside, finding Alex sitting by the lake with a cup of coffee in his hands.
She sat beside him.
Could you ever walk away from everything? she asked.
I already did.
I mean for good. The money. The empire. The Volkov name.
If it meant keeping you, yes.
She looked at him closely. You're serious.
I am.
Then let's test it. Let's disappear for a while. No last names. No money. Just you and me.
His eyebrows rose. Where would we go?
She smiled faintly. Somewhere quiet. A place where no one knows who we are. Just to see if this… us… is real.
And if it isn't?
Then we'll walk away knowing we tried.
He extended his hand. Let's do it.
She placed hers in his.
---
They left that night.
Two train rides and a long hike later, they arrived at a small village nestled in the hills of Tuscany. No luxury suites. No private drivers. Just a tiny cottage with creaky floors and wildflowers on the windowsill.
They bought groceries from a local vendor. Cooked meals together. He learned to chop onions without crying. She painted on the front porch. They shared laughter, burnt food, and stories they had never told anyone else.
For the first time, Isabella saw the man behind the empire. A man who loved late-night walks and old books. Who watched the stars like they held answers. Who had fears and regrets but wanted to be better.
And Alexander saw her, too. Not just the artist. Not just the woman he had wronged. But a soul full of fire, healing herself one stroke at a time.
One evening, as they sat beneath a fig tree, he reached for her hand.
I don't know what the future holds, he said, voice low. But I want it to have you in it.
She didn't pull away.
Then stop running from your past, Alex. Face it with me.
You'd do that?
Only if you're honest. No secrets. No games.
He nodded. Deal.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. The sun dipped behind the hills, casting a warm glow over the village.
Maybe, just maybe, the cold-hearted billionaire was thawing.
And maybe, just maybe, Isabella was ready to let herself believe again.