A Writer's Transmigration into the world of fantasy-Chapter 113

The students around them gasped silently. Even the girls who had been gossiping earlier suddenly looked at Isabella with complicated expressions.

They had always thought she was arrogant, sharp-tongued, untouchable.

But at this moment, the way she held Victor's arm and smiled, it was as if she had deliberately wrapped herself in his shadow, turning her pride into a weapon of sweetness.

A beautiful trap.

And Victor… was clearly willing to fall into it.

His lips curled slightly, the coldness in his eyes easing, replaced by something dangerously indulgent.

"Good," he said softly.

Then, without warning, he reached out and lifted his hand, gently pinching Isabella's chin, forcing her to look up at him.

His gaze swept across her cheek again, as if confirming she was truly fine.

"You're clever enough to stop me."

His voice was low, almost intimate.

"But next time, don't stop me."

Isabella's heart skipped a beat.

The people around them did not dare to breathe, as if they were watching a scene that should not be watched.

Brandon Hughes's fingers clenched tightly at his sides.

His face was pale, his eyes dark and cold, like a man who had just been forced to witness something unbearable.

He suddenly laughed, but the laughter sounded hollow.

"So this is your new taste," Brandon Hughes said slowly, his voice carrying a trace of bitterness. "Isabella, you really surprise me."

Isabella didn't even look at him.

She simply leaned into Victor's arm, her smile calm and graceful, as if Brandon Hughes was nothing but a buzzing fly.

"Brandon Hughes," she said lightly, her voice carrying a faint mocking tone, "you're mistaken."

Only then did she raise her eyes and look at him.

Her gaze was cold, indifferent, like she was looking at a stranger.

"You were my past taste."

The moment she finished speaking, Brandon Hughes's pupils shrank.

His face completely lost its color.

It was as if his last remaining dignity had been ripped away and thrown on the ground.

Vanessa Cruz's heart surged with joy for a second, but that joy instantly turned into fear again, because she saw Victor's gaze shift.

His eyes fell on Brandon Hughes.

Not anger.

Not jealousy.

Just cold amusement.

"Mr. Hughes," Victor said lazily, "since you're so understanding, then we'll end it here."

He paused, then added with a faint smile.

"But if you insist on continuing…"

His voice dropped, calm but threatening.

"I don't mind making this a little more serious."

Brandon Hughes stared at him for a long time.

Then, he finally forced a smile again, but his eyes were filled with darkness.

"Mr. Steele, you really live up to your reputation."

Victor's expression did not change.

"Thank you."

Brandon Hughes turned his head, his hand gripping Vanessa Cruz's wrist.

"Let's go."

Vanessa Cruz's body trembled slightly. She wanted to say something, but in the end, she didn't dare. She could only follow Brandon Hughes out of the reception room.

As she passed Isabella, she raised her eyes for a moment.

Her gaze was venomous.

But Isabella didn't even bother to look at her.

She simply held Victor's arm and smiled faintly, as if she had already won.

When the two of them finally left, the tense atmosphere in the reception room loosened, like a bowstring snapping back after being pulled too tight.

Only then did the students dare to breathe again.

Some looked at Isabella with admiration.

Some looked at her with jealousy.

Some looked at her with fear.

But Isabella didn't care.

She only raised her head and looked at Victor, her voice soft. "Mr. Steele, can we go now? I'm tired."

Victor looked down at her, his gaze deep.

Then, in front of everyone, he reached out and gently wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as if she belonged there.

His voice was calm, but it carried an unmistakable possessive tenderness.

"Let's go."

He paused, then added, his tone dangerously casual.

"And later, we'll settle the condition I mentioned last night."

Hearing Victor's words, Isabella froze for a second.

Her lips parted slightly, but the words she had wanted to say were swallowed back down her throat. The car key in her bag suddenly felt as heavy as a stone, pressing against her conscience.

Hilton… top floor apartment.

ID card.

Fingerprint access.

The man in front of her said it so casually, as if he were merely lending her a spare umbrella on a rainy day, not handing her the key to a world most people could only dream of.

Isabella's fingers tightened around her bag strap, and she forced herself to remain calm.

"Mr. Steele…" she began, but her voice faltered midway.

Victor glanced at her, his gaze sharp and calm, as if he had already guessed what she was about to say.

"You want to refuse again?" he asked.

Isabella pursed her lips. She wanted to deny it, but the truth was stuck in her throat.

Yes.

She wanted to refuse.

Not because she didn't want it, but because she was afraid. Afraid of becoming too dependent, afraid of being trapped in a golden cage, afraid that one day she would no longer be able to stand up on her own feet.

She forced out a smile, but it was a little stiff. "It's too much… I can't accept it so easily."

Victor didn't laugh. He didn't mock her either.

Instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over her again, steady and heavy. His fingers reached out and lightly brushed the edge of her hair near her ear, as if adjusting something that wasn't out of place.

His voice was low.

"Isabella Cruz."

He rarely called her full name.

The way he said it was not like an order, but like a warning, or perhaps… a declaration.

"You can accept it."

Isabella's heart tightened.

She lifted her eyes to look at him. Under the sunlight, his face was still as cold and handsome as ever, but the gaze in his eyes carried a kind of pressure that made it hard to breathe.

"Why?" she asked softly.

Victor stared at her for a moment.

Then he said calmly, "Because I'm giving it to you."

That sentence sounded simple.

But it was the kind of sentence that left no room for negotiation.

Isabella's throat felt dry. She wanted to argue, to say she could rent a small apartment near the hospital, to say she could manage, to say she didn't need charity.

But the moment she met his gaze, she realized something.

This wasn't charity.

This was possession.

A calm, unyielding kind of protection, the kind that didn't ask for consent.

Victor opened the car door for her, his movements natural, like he had done it countless times.

"Get in," he said.

Isabella hesitated, then finally climbed into the passenger seat.

The leather seat was cool, clean, and smelled faintly of expensive cologne mixed with the cold scent of the car's interior.

She clutched her bag and looked at him nervously.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Victor closed the door, walked around the front of the car, and sat down in the driver's seat.

He fastened his seatbelt with one hand, started the engine, and only then replied indifferently.

"To see something."

Isabella frowned.

"What?"

Victor turned his head slightly and glanced at her, his eyes deep.

"My condition."

The moment those words fell, Isabella's heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Her cheeks heated up uncontrollably.

She wanted to pretend she didn't understand, but she couldn't.

Last night, in the car, he had said he had a condition. Today, he said it again. His tone was calm, but the meaning was far too clear.

Isabella's fingers subconsciously tightened.

"Mr. Steele," she said softly, "don't joke with me."

Victor's lips curled into a faint smile, but the smile was colder than warmth. "I never joke about things like this."

Isabella's breathing slowed, and she instinctively leaned back into the seat, putting distance between herself and him.

However, the car was already moving.

The scenery outside the window began to slide backward. The campus parking lot was left behind, the noise of students and the gossip of the reception room fading away like it had never existed.

The inside of the car became its own sealed world.

Too quiet.

Too dangerous.

Isabella stared at the road ahead, pretending to be calm, but her heart was beating so hard she could hear it.

"Are you taking me to the Hilton?" she asked.

Victor didn't answer immediately.

After a long pause, he spoke slowly.

"Isabella."

His voice was calm, but it carried an unmistakable dominance. "You said you don't care about anyone else's opinion."

He paused.

"Then prove it."

Isabella's pupils trembled slightly.

Her palms were damp with sweat.

She forced herself to turn and look at him.

"Prove… what?"

Victor's eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips rising faintly, like a predator finally seeing its prey stop running.

"Prove that you're willing to stay by my side."

His voice dropped lower, dangerously gentle.

"Not because you have no choice."

"But because you want to."

Isabella's lips trembled slightly, but she didn't speak.