It starts with a kiss

ISAAC'S POV

I got to know about Imogen Stone when my father was diagnosed with hypertension.

I had been there for the man. My father. But he only really thought about his legal son. Elijah.

Elijah had finished his education for weeks but had refused to return to Portland. So, an ultimatum was drawn. Since the silent news of our father's disease did not bring him out, Father thought it was wise to use me to force the hand of Elijah.

He had told Elijah that if he didn't return, he would make me the sole heir of his inheritance.

My father knew his children well. He knew what made us tick, and what made Elijah tick the most was my existence.

Hearing that there was a chance that I could take it all had brought back sense to my stepbrother, and he had come back to Portland with his heart in his mouth.

Our father wanted him to get married before his disease eventually ate him alive.

But Elijah had come with a new woman. A woman that his mother especially did not approve of.

They had a plan for him, and it was in the corner of that hospital room that I got to know about Imogen Stone. A Bachelor's degree in Liberal arts which was a big feat. She was a ballerina before she quit and an excellent musician.

In hindsight, she seemed like the perfect wife for the legal son of my father. But my stepbrother didn't want her.

Elijah had vehemently said that he had fallen out of love with her and would only marry the woman he brought with him.

So, of course, another ultimatum had been thrown: if Elijah did not marry Imogen Stone, he would be scrapped from the inheritance, and it would all be mine again.

An opportunity had been given to me—payback in the worst way possible. But I knew I needed to thread carefully. It would be foolish to look desperate. But I was. Not for the money. But to ruin my stepbrother and his equally vile mother.

So, I instead just kept my sights on Imogen Stone. Wondering if I should tell her the hell she was about to enter. But the woman seemed lovestruck. On the many dates she had gone to with Elijah when he returned to Portland, she had that shine on her eyes for him. So, of course, I could never say the words to her directly.

The Rossi family's open secret was the kind of person no woman in love would trust. So I waited until the wedding. Knowing Elijah would crack under the pressure, and he did. Faster than I expected.

He abandoned his bride on their wedding night in front of a hotel like some cheap whore and went to bed with his mistress instead.

One photo and a scandalous article were all I needed. Elijah would never recover. Or so it thought. I wrongfully believed that Imogen would want to be free from the shackles of a loveless marriage after the humiliation that my stepbrother had put her through. We would have a common enemy, and we would get what we wanted.

But she had rejected my hand. She even helped Elijah to brand me and my paper as lying pieces of shit. I had wondered why she had done it. Fear? Money? Both?

But I came to realize that it was still love. Despite the betrayal from Elijah, she cared about him enough to not shatter his family's hood name.

So it was surprising that she was here now, asking for my help to burn my brother to the ground. If it were anybody else, I would take their hand almost immediately. I was itching to ruin that bastard. But it was her.

I barely knew Imogen. But if there was one thing I learned about her, it was that she loved dangerously.

I doubted her. It was the rational reaction. But she seemed sincere, which made me think my stepbrother must have crossed the point of no return. But that sincerity could also just be momentary anger. Rage that would subside as quickly as it has risen to the brim.

So, I threw an ultimatum of my own. One that a woman who still loved her cheating husband wouldn't be able to follow through with.

"You say all you want is revenge, and my brother is now nothing to you. Why don't you kiss me to prove it?"

I saw her turn pale white in response.

Her eyes widened, caught off guard by my unexpected request. I watched as emotions flickered across her face – surprise, uncertainty, and perhaps a hint of fear.

Imogen's breath caught in her throat, her gaze darting away from mine as she struggled to compose herself. It was clear that my challenge had struck a nerve, forcing her to confront her conflicting desires.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had pushed too far.

"See," I told her, basking in what I had forced her to confront. "You cannot do it because you still love my brother, which is sad, really. But that is none of my business. I do hope you find a way to hate him somehow. But I have to decline holding your hand. It is clear to me that you will never—"

"Never hold your hand?" She effectively cut me off, meeting my eyes with a steely determination.

Without a word, Imogen stepped closer. "Is that it?"

"Like I mentioned before, you are adept. But none the wiser. You love my brother despite the hell he has put you through. Why?"

Imogen scoffed at my words. "You don't know me."

"I think I do."

"No, you do—"

"—I do." I finished my sentence, my voice tinged with amusement and a little bit of curiosity. I wanted to know what she would do next.

Before I could fully process her next move, Imogen surprised me by reaching for my tie, her fingers deftly knotting the fabric before pulling me close. I stumbled forward, caught off guard by her sudden assertiveness.

For a moment, our eyes met, sparking with a tension that crackled in the air between us. There was a fire in her gaze, a fierce determination that belied the uncertainty that had clouded her moments before.

"You think you know me, Isaac Rossi?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath against my ear. I hated how her words glided down my ears, causing goosebumps to form on my flesh.

"You think you can predict my every move, my every emotion?"

Her words sent a shiver down my spine, stirring something profound inside of me that I couldn't quite name yet.

There was a rawness to her tone, a vulnerability tempered by a steely resolve that captivated me in ways I couldn't explain.

Before I could answer or rationalize, Imogen pressed her lips to mine in a kiss.

It wasn't the short or chaste type. There was hunger in that kiss. Frustration. Longing.

As much as I would like to lie, it ignited a blaze of desire within me.

To my own surprise, I found myself returning the kiss. My mouth moved eagerly against hers, matching the enthusiasm of her kiss with whatever was happening to my mind.

It was as if some floodgate I was unaware of had been opened, unleashing a torrent of waters that had long been suppressed.

Her lips were soft against mine, her breath warm and inviting as she deepened the kiss, drawing me further into the intoxicating whirlwind of sensation.

At that moment, all thoughts of rationalization or restraint were swept away by the tide of desire.

But just when it got good, Imogen broke away, wiping at her mouth.

"Are you convinced now?" She asked.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. Still caught off guard by what had transpired.

"Yes," I eventually managed to mouth. "I am."