Page 59 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Franco's hand lands on my shoulder—solid, grounding, reminding me that even though I'm the Beast they all fear, I've never had to hunt alone.

Every step back to the table feels like walking through quicksand. The air's thick with tension, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. I can feel them all watching—judging, waiting to see how this plays out. Wondering if today's the day the Beast finally loses control.

I thrust the folder at Isabella, letting our fingers brush. That single point of contact sends electricity crackling up my arm, setting every nerve on fire. I can't stop myself from dropping my hand to her thigh, pressing possessively through the thin fabric of her dress. Claiming what's mine in front of everyone watching. Anchoring myself to the only thing that makes sense in this storm.

Because ever since those Greek fuckers dropped the bombshell about her mother still breathing, there's been this crushing weight in my chest like someone's grinding broken glass into my lungs.

"There's a phone in the folder," Isabella whispers, her voice steady even as I feel the slight tremor in her thigh beneath my palm.

Alexandros nods, his eyes never leaving mine like he's waiting for me to snap. "There's only one file on there: a video." He tilts his head. "We assumed you wouldn't have let us use a USB on your system."

Damn right. Even as I snatch the phone to add the password to the network, I shunt him onto the "guest" secured protocol. Trust isn't a luxury in our world—it's the quickest path to a shallow grave.

"And there's only one number saved," Alexandros continues, his accent thickening. "It's hers. She said you should watch the video first and decide if you want to talk to her."

Isabella's eyes narrow dangerously, and I can feel the fury radiating off her in waves that match my own. "Why are you doing all of this?" she demands, her voice sharp as a blade. "It's clear my mother isn't a favorite for all of you." She shoots a look at Stefanos, whose glare promises violence.

"What's in it for you?" She lifts a shoulder, defiance in every line of her body. "I've been in this world long enough to know that nothing is free."

Her words hit me like a knife between the ribs. The resignation in her tone—not a trace of the innocent ballerina I locked away. This is a woman who's learned our world's lessons the hard way. Lessons I carved into her with cruelty and stone walls.

"Honor." Alexandros spits the word like it's a bullet. "Honor is important to us. Honor and family."

I can't hold back the dark laugh that tears from my throat. "Are you telling us you guys are blood to Isabella?" The thought of these bastards having a rightful claim to her—having any kind of say in her fate when I've bled and killed to make her mine—makes every muscle in my body tense. These Greeks could have protected her all along. Could have stepped in when I locked her away. Could have shielded her from her father, from me, from everything that's broken her.

But they waited until now? Until they needed something from us?

Alexandros gives me a look that makes my trigger finger itch. Then his eyes slide to Isabella—lingering, appreciative, his fingers trailing down his wine glass in a way that's unmistakably suggestive.

Red floods my vision. The Beast roars to life, clawing to get out, hungry for blood. I'm half a second from launching across the table to rip his throat out with my bare hands when Connor's muttered words slice through the haze.

"He better not look at my wife like this."

Naomi snorts, the unexpected sound breaking the tension for a fraction of a second before she looks mortified at her own reaction. In another lifetime, I might've found amusement in their obvious connection. But not now. Not with every atom in my body screaming for violence.

"So?" I growl, my patience stretched to breaking point.

"We're not related," Alexandros says, unfazed by the death promise in my eyes. "But Isabella's grandfather was our grandfather's best friend. He died for him. And he made us promise we'd always be there for one another."

My grip on Isabella's thigh tightens instinctively. If they had that kind of blood debt, that kind of sworn loyalty, where the fuck were they when she needed protection? When she was fighting cancer alone? When her father was auctioning her off like property?

Where were they when I was tearing her apart with my revenge?

I say nothing, just hold her closer, feeling her muscles tense beneath my hand. Because if what they're saying is true—if her mother is alive after all these years—then everything I thought I knew, every reason I've had for revenge, has been built on quicksand.

And the Beast doesn't handle uncertainty well.

“What do you want to do?” I ask my wife—because right now, in this no matter how much I want to take control, kick fucking everyone out and just have her and me together.

I can’t.

This needs to be her decision.

She inhales deeply, scrolls down and presses the screen.

Chapter thirty-five

Isabella

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