CHAPTER 30: CHAPTER 30 ASHAMED

Leonardo raised a brow. "What did you say?"

"I said you’re cold like ice cream... but without the sweetness," she mumbled, looking out the window.

Leonardo leaned back in his seat. "Maybe I should’ve burned the unicorn instead."

"Villain!" she snapped, turning to glare at him. "You kidnapped me from my bed!"

"You were snoring when I entered."

"I don’t snore!"

"Yes, you do. Loudly."

"You’re evil! I’ll report you to your own guards!"

"I pay them. Good luck with that."

She puffed her cheeks and turned her face away.

As the sleek black car pulled up to the entrance of Bar 1989, Isabella’s eyes widened behind the window. The outside was modern and minimal, but the glowing red signage gave off an intense vibe.

Leonardo stepped out first, adjusting his watch with effortless authority. The moment his foot hit the pavement, the atmosphere changed.

Guards in black suits appeared from almost every corner, surrounding him in a silent formation. Some nodded with quiet respect, others lowered their heads slightly in greeting. Patrons who were laughing loudly a moment ago suddenly quieted, casting quick glances in his direction before pretending to mind their own business.

Isabella stepped out after him, her oversized fluffy sweater and bunny slippers gently hitting the stone steps. She clutched her little purse nervously and looked around.

Everyone’s staring at him like he’s the mafia king, she thought, blinking at the intense stares.

They weren’t in awe.

They were in fear.

Leonardo didn’t speak. He just walked forward, and the guards moved with him like a shadow, creating a clear path inside.

Isabella stayed close behind, accidentally bumping into one of the guards. "S-sorry," she whispered.

He looked down, expressionless... then subtly nodded, not saying a word.

No one seemed to notice her odd attire because honestly, no one dared look too closely. Surrounded by Leonardo’s men, she could’ve worn a glittering tutu or a dragon costume and still been left alone. The power he carried... it swallowed everything else.

They moved past the regular crowd and into the back of the bar through a side hallway with velvet walls and dim golden lights until they reached the private section.

A large round booth waited at the center, guarded by yet more men in suits.

And there, lounging were three men.

Zion, Casper and Alan.

Casper’s feet were on the table, a drink in his hand and his pink hair glowing under the soft lights.

"About time!" Casper grinned wide. "Where’s your—"

Then his voice cut off as his eyes landed on Isabella.

And the next second—

All three of them froze.

Zion was known for his sharp suits, sharper mind and the fact that nothing ever surprised him.

Until now.

Because when Leonardo arrived with Isabella walking behind him..wearing a fluffy cream sweater with a sleepy cat on the front, a soft pink skirt with little ribbons, and bunny slippers—Zion actually froze mid-sip of his aged scotch.

His eyes widened, just slightly. And for Zion Wu, that was equivalent to a gasp.

Casper’s jaw dropped. Alan’s eyebrows shot up.

Isabella, completely unaware of the silent storm she’d just walked into, smiled politely and clutched her tiny purse with both hands as she sat beside Leonardo. Her legs swung a little from the seat, and her bunny slippers made a gentle squeak against the leather booth cushion.

For a long second, no one said a word.

Then, Zion leaned back slowly, crossed one leg over the other, and in the calmest voice imaginable said:

"Bro... whose child did you kidnap?"

Alan nearly choked on his whiskey.

Casper froze mid-sip, his brows slowly rising funnily.

Leonardo’s expression remained cold, but the vein in his jaw twitched.

"She’s not a child," he said flatly. "She’s my wife."

Zion stared at him. Then at Isabella. Then back at him.

"Your wife?"

The way he said it made it sound like Leo had adopted a kitten and claimed it was a tiger.

Leonardo sat back against the leather booth, one arm resting casually along the top as his cold gray eyes swept over his friends’ stunned faces.

When Zion gave him that questioning look and Casper couldn’t hold in his smirk, Leonardo responded flatly, without even blinking—

"What’s wrong with that?"

His tone held no emotion, no defense. But the weight in his voice made it clear—don’t push it.

Meanwhile, Isabella completely unaware of the tense undercurrent had already begun to doze off.

Her head drooped slightly to the side, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and her soft breaths came in slow, sleepy rhythm. It was well past her usual cartoon-and-cookies bedtime, and nothing could overpower that now. She even mumbled something under her breath, hugging her tiny purse like a plushie.

"...I told you not to eat my cookie, Mr. Unicorn..." she muttered dreamily.

Casper tried very hard not to laugh out loud.

Zion simply stared, baffled. This girl didn’t match any version of what he imagined Leonardo’s wife would be.

Casper leaned closer to Leonardo, chuckling, "You’ve got weird hobbies, bro. I mean... out of all the women in the world, you pick one who wears bunny slippers and talks to invisible unicorns in her sleep?"

He winked. "Didn’t know you were into childish girls. Hehehe—"

But before he could finish the sentence, Leonardo’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp as a blade.

His gray eyes held no amusement.

Just one look. And Casper felt his throat dry up slightly.

The smirk died on his face.

Zion leaned back slowly and cleared his throat. "We should order drinks."

Casper nodded quickly. "Yeah. Great idea."

Leonardo turned back to his sleepy wife who was now curled slightly to the side, leaning toward him without realizing, her soft breaths hitting his arm.

He didn’t say a word.

But in his cold, unreadable eyes...

There was a faint flicker of something else.

•••

The bar dimmed further, neon lights glowing like lazy fireflies, and the air shifted as music pulsed through the walls with a heavy beat. The friends had begun talking again half business, half teasing banter as their drinks were placed in front of them by silent servers.

Leonardo didn’t say much. He just sipped his whiskey, his other arm resting behind Isabella, who was still half-asleep, her head lightly leaning toward him.

But then...

The music changed.

The lights shifted again..pink and red now, shadows dancing along the walls.

A preety woman stepped onto the small stage near their private booth. She wore nearly nothing, just enough shimmer to tease the imagination. Her long legs glided along the pole with practiced ease, and her movements were slow, elegant, deliberate.

She spun once, then began moving toward their section, her hips swaying in perfect rhythm, eyes locked on Leonardo like he was the only man in the room.

The crowd cheered. Some whistled. Others watched in respectful silence.

And the noise...

Jolted Isabella awake.

Her sleepy eyes blinked open, pupils adjusting to the bright pink lights and then she saw her.

The woman dancing.

Beautiful. Confident. Skin glowing under the lights. Moving like liquid fire.

Isabella sat up slowly, still clutching her little purse. Her sleepy haze was gone now.

The dancer sauntered closer to their table, her gaze fixed on Leonardo. She licked her red lips and slid one hand down her side, pressing closer.

Leonardo didn’t even glance her way but the dancer clearly wasn’t planning to give up.

Isabella felt a strange, tight twist in her chest. She couldn’t name it. But she didn’t like it.

Her eyes, soft and brown, lowered to the woman’s smooth thighs, her flat stomach, her perfect skin.

Then—

A sharp memory surfaced.

Her own back, marred with fading belt marks.

Her legs, covered in tiny faded burn scars, where her uncle’s cigarette had left its cruel signature.

She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers gripping the edge of her skirt. She pulled it down, as if to hide her own scars no one could even see.

She wasn’t jealous of the woman dancing.

She was... ashamed.

Ashamed of her body. Of what had been done to it. Of how far she felt from the kind of beauty that danced under red lights like a goddess.

She lowered her eyes, her throat dry.

And in that moment—

She forgot she was a wife.

She just felt... small. And broken.

And so far from perfect.

None of the others noticed Isabella’s shifting expression.

Casper and Alan were still making side comments, half-laughing, half-watching the dancer with mild amusement. Zion remained calm, sipping his drink and checking something on his phone.

But Leonardo noticed.

He hadn’t been paying attention to the dancer at all—until Isabella sat up stiffly beside him.

Her face, usually soft and filled with sleepy innocence, was now blank... too blank.

Her shoulders had tensed. Her eyes didn’t look curious or surprised.

They looked distant. Sad.

His brows knit together slightly.

Leonardo followed her gaze, and it landed directly on the dancer...just as the woman flipped her hair and began strutting closer again, slow and calculated, her body moving like she had practiced this seduction for years. She was just about to lean in further, close enough to place herself between him and Isabella—

And that’s when he looked at her.

One look.

Cold. Piercing. Ruthless.

Leonardo’s eyes darkened into something unreadable, sharp as a blade soaked in winter.

The dancer, mid-step, faltered. Her confidence shattered like glass against stone. She barely caught herself from stumbling and turned away so fast, it was obvious she felt the danger.

She didn’t come near again.

Instead, she moved to the opposite end of the floor, pretending she never even looked their way.