Hearts of the Bosphorus

Chapter 12

Circling Shadows

The invitation arrived on a crisp ivory card, embossed with gold lettering that reflected the luxury associated with Delvecchio Diamonds. Isabella held it between her fingers, tracing the elegant script as if it held secrets she could uncover. She read the message again, though its meaning hadn't changed since the first time she'd seen it:

You are cordially invited to a banquet hosted by Delvecchio Diamonds, celebrating the upcoming collaboration between Adorno Industries and Balik International.

The rest of the details blurred together as Isabella's mind circled back to the words Balik International. It had been nearly a week since the video call, a week since she had seen Omer's face again, and the memory of that moment still clawed at her thoughts when she was alone.

She hadn't told anyone—not Clara, not Layla—about the true nature of her shock during the call. She had swallowed the panic, hidden the sickness that had overtaken her afterward, and buried herself in the logistics of the collaboration. But now, the reality of facing Omer in person, of standing in the same room as him, was impossible to ignore.

She folded the card carefully and placed it on her desk, her hands steady despite the flutter of anxiety beneath her skin. This collaboration might be her only chance to secure Adorno Industries' future, but she knew that tonight would test her resolve more than any negotiation or business deal ever could.

The banquet hall at the Ritz-Carlton glittered with opulence, the chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests who mingled beneath them. Isabella arrived early, her gown a deep, rich shade of midnight blue that clung to her curves and shimmered like the Bosphorus under the moonlight. The dress was fitted at the waist, cascading to the floor in soft, flowing waves. She wore her dark hair loose, the soft curls framing her face with an effortless grace, and her lips were painted a bold, classic red.

She moved through the room like she belonged there, with a poise that hinted at both confidence and careful control. But beneath that composed exterior, her heart raced. She could feel eyes on her as she walked—curious, admiring—but there was only one gaze she cared about, one presence she could feel even before she saw him.

When she finally caught sight of him across the room, her breath hitched. Omer stood near the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his tall frame perfectly tailored in a classic black suit. He was all sharp lines and effortless charisma, his broad shoulders filling out the suit jacket with a confidence that came as naturally as breathing. His dark hair was neatly styled, with just a touch of unruly waves that softened his otherwise chiseled appearance. His clean-shaven jawline had a strong, determined edge, and when he turned slightly, she glimpsed the profile that had once set her heart aflame—high cheekbones, lips that could curve into a devastating smile, and those piercing dark eyes that seemed to take in everything.

He looked exactly like the man she remembered and yet more refined, more commanding, the years having carved away any traces of youthful uncertainty. It was as if the boy she had loved had been replaced by someone harder, someone with edges sharp enough to draw blood.

Isabella swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the present. He's your rival now, Isabella. He's not the boy you once knew.

But her eyes lingered on him, unable to look away. Every inch of him exuded a quiet power, a control that made the air around him hum with intensity. He was speaking with a few other guests, nodding politely at whatever they were saying, but she caught the way his gaze flicked to her across the room, sharp and unyielding.

She quickly averted her eyes, pretending to admire the intricate floral arrangements on a nearby table. But the tension in the air was undeniable, like a magnetic force that drew them together even as they fought to maintain their distance.