THE DEVIL'S ANGEL

chapter 25

### Chapter Twenty-Five: Shadows of Fear

Isabella's breaths came fast and shallow as she leaned against the door of her bedroom, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Her vision swam, dark spots clouding the edges as her legs trembled beneath her. She sank to the floor, clutching her chest, feeling as though the walls were closing in around her. The suffocating weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the constant fear—was too much to bear.

Her thoughts spiraled out of control, one horrible image after another flashing through her mind. Alessandro and Valeria. Their kiss. His hands on her. The taunting smile on Valeria's lips as she claimed what Isabella thought she had reclaimed.

No matter how hard she tried to block it out, the pain kept coming, wave after crushing wave, until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Stop," she whispered to herself, clutching her head in her hands. "Please, just stop..."

But her body wasn't listening. Her breathing grew more erratic, her chest tightening as panic overtook her. She gasped for air, her vision narrowing until all she could see was darkness.

Then, everything went black.

---

Isabella awoke to the distant sound of voices, soft murmurs that seemed to be coming from far away. The world around her was hazy, her mind still caught in the fog of unconsciousness. She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

The first thing she saw was Alessandro, sitting beside her hospital bed, his face etched with worry. His hand gripped hers tightly, as though he was afraid to let go.

"Isabella..." His voice was hoarse, full of emotion. When he saw her stir, his grip tightened, and he leaned closer. "You're awake."

For a moment, Isabella didn't respond. She couldn't. Her mind was still reeling from everything that had happened. The memory of that awful night—of seeing him with Valeria—crashed into her all over again, and her chest tightened in response. But this time, it wasn't the same sharp panic. It was a dull ache, a weight that settled deep inside her, leaving her feeling hollow.

"What... what happened?" she asked, her voice weak and scratchy.

Alessandro ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw tight with tension. "You collapsed, Isabella. You had a panic attack, a bad one. The doctor said you were hyperventilating, and you passed out from lack of oxygen."

Isabella's hand instinctively went to her chest, where the tightness still lingered, a reminder of how close she had come to losing control completely.

"The doctor?" she asked, her mind struggling to catch up. "Am I...?"

"You're going to be okay," Alessandro said quickly, though the worry in his eyes betrayed his words. "But they had to run some tests. The doctor thinks... you might be suffering from something called panic disorder."

Panic disorder. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unfamiliar. Isabella had never thought of herself as someone who was sick—at least, not in that way. She had always prided herself on being strong, on surviving the impossible life she'd been thrust into when she married Alessandro. But now, she felt fragile. Broken.

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Alessandro looked away for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "It means that what happened to you... it wasn't just a one-time thing. You've been under too much stress for too long, and your body couldn't handle it anymore."

He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. "The doctor said you'll need help to manage it—therapy, medication if necessary. But the important thing is that we're going to get you through this. I'm not going to leave your side, Isabella. Not now. Not ever."

Isabella's heart clenched at his words. She didn't know what to feel—relief that someone had finally named what she was experiencing, or fear that this diagnosis would change everything. Could she still be the same person? Could she still survive in Alessandro's world if she was sick like this?

She met his gaze, searching for answers in his eyes. Alessandro looked exhausted, his normally sharp features softened by worry and guilt. He hadn't left her side since she collapsed—she could tell by the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his posture. And yet, there was something in his expression that told her he wasn't just here out of obligation. There was genuine concern, maybe even love, behind the way he watched over her.

But then, the memory of Valeria flashed in her mind, and Isabella's chest tightened again. How could she trust him after what she had seen? How could she believe that he truly cared for her when he had betrayed her in such a cruel way?

She pulled her hand away from his, her voice trembling as she asked the question that had been burning inside her since that night. "Why, Alessandro? Why did you kiss her?"

Alessandro's expression darkened, his eyes filled with regret. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to find the right words. "I was drunk, Isabella. I don't remember half of what happened that night. But I swear to you—I didn't want that kiss. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"That doesn't make it any better," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "You still did it."

"I know," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "And I hate myself for it. I've made so many mistakes, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I'm begging you, Isabella—don't give up on me. Don't give up on us."

Isabella turned away, tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared out the window at the gray sky. She didn't know what to say. A part of her wanted to believe him, to trust that it had been a mistake, a moment of weakness. But another part of her was too hurt, too broken to let go of the betrayal.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Alessandro's hand tightened into a fist, but he didn't argue. He just sat there, watching her, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own.

"I understand," he said finally, his voice rough. "And I'm not asking for forgiveness right now. I just... I just want to be here for you, Isabella. I want to take care of you."

She didn't respond, her mind too clouded with exhaustion and emotion. For now, she just needed time. Time to process everything, time to heal—both from the physical toll of her collapse and the emotional wounds Alessandro had caused.

As the hours passed, Alessandro stayed by her side, silent but unwavering. He brought her water when she was thirsty, helped adjust her pillows when she was uncomfortable, and simply sat there when all she needed was his presence. Despite everything, there was something comforting about having him near, even if she wasn't ready to forgive him.

Days blurred together as Isabella remained in the hospital, under observation for her panic disorder. Each day, Alessandro visited without fail. He was there when she woke, when she ate, and when she drifted back to sleep, his quiet presence a constant, even as their relationship hung in the balance.

And though the pain of his betrayal still lingered, Isabella couldn't deny that part of her still longed for the man who sat by her bed, waiting for the day she would be strong enough to decide if she could ever trust him again.

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In this chapter, Isabella is diagnosed with panic disorder after a severe attack, and Alessandro remains by her side, determined to care for her despite their fractured relationship. Their interaction is filled with emotional complexity, as Isabella struggles with both her physical and emotional health, and Alessandro attempts to make amends for his betrayal. Though the future of their relationship remains uncertain, Alessandro's dedication to her recovery is clear.