Page 21 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

H aving Isaac stand up for me felt better than I could’ve ever expected.

It wasn’t just that he said the right thing. It was how he said it—calm, steady, like the truth was a weapon he didn’t mind using. Like I mattered. Like I was worth protecting.

God, I wasn’t used to that.

When I was with Sampson, everything was always about him .

His friends, his image, his career trajectory.

I was something glossy to put on his arm when it suited him, then shelved when things got complicated.

If a guy at a party made some gross comment about my body, Sampson would laugh it off, maybe throw an arm around me and whisper, Don’t get all sensitive, babe.

He never took my side. Not really. Not when it cost him anything.

My dad never stood up for me either. I always felt like I was on my own.

From the time I was young, I was told to smile pretty and nod.

It was beneath a Duvall to get into a verbal sparring match with anyone.

I was just supposed to accept the bullshit and keep my chin raised. It wasn’t worth offending anyone.

But Isaac? Isaac looked like he was ready to go to war. He didn’t care about offending the wrong person or starting a fight with someone important. Maybe it was because he was important. He didn’t have to kiss anyone’s ass. He was a fucking Bancroft, and dammit, I was a Duvall.

Isaac stood with his jaw clenched and his body angled in front of mine like he was daring Sampson to try something.

Protective didn’t even begin to cover it—he radiated alpha energy like it was oxygen.

My skin tingled where his hand brushed the small of my back.

I had half a mind to drag him back up to my room and finish what we’d started. Again.

I never imagined myself to be one of those women that liked the caveman thing, but hot damn. This man could club me over the head and drag me back to his cave any day of the week. Hell, I hoped he would do exactly that.

But Sampson, being Sampson, didn’t leave when he should’ve. He stayed planted in front of us like he had something left to prove. Like he deserved some kind of apology or magnanimous gesture because he wanted to speak to me.

I could tell things were quickly spiraling into something that was not going to end well.

I stepped up once again. I stepped forward, placing a hand on Isaac’s arm.

His muscles were tense under my touch, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, but I needed to stop this before it escalated into something we’d both regret.

“Isaac,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “It’s okay. Let’s just walk away.”

He glanced down at me, his dark eyes still blazing, but he didn’t move. I could see the conflict in his expression—the instinct to protect me warring with the knowledge that this wasn’t the time or place for a physical brawl.

Sampson, of course, couldn’t resist pushing. “Mina, you don’t have to let him speak for you,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re stronger than that.”

Isaac stiffened beside me. I tightened my grip on his arm. “Sampson,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “This isn’t about strength. It’s about respect. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

His face flushed, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he seemed to think better of it. “You and I have a history,” Sampson said. “You owe me a conversation.”

“A conversation?” I hissed, stepping closer to him, my voice low but I didn’t try to hide the contempt I felt. “You think you’re owed anything from me? After what you did? I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

Sampson’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting around the room like he was suddenly aware of the audience we were drawing. “Mina, it wasn’t that simple. You don’t understand?—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I cut him off, my voice trembling with anger. “We both know what you did and now you have the audacity to stand here and act like you’re the one who deserves closure?”

He flinched, but I wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You don’t get to waltz back into my life and demand a conversation because it makes you feel better,” I continued. “You don’t get to rewrite history or pretend this is some noble act of decency. You lost that right when you decided I wasn’t enough for you.”

“Mina,” he started, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I made a mistake. A huge one. But I never stopped caring about you.”

“Just stop,” I said with a sigh. “We don’t need to talk. You’re here. I don’t know why, but whatever. Drink. Make merry. Hell, dance to a sea shanty. I honestly don’t care. I just know I don’t want to talk to you. Period.”

“Mina, you’re always so dramatic,” he said with exasperation.

Isaac clenched his fist. I felt the muscles in his forearm flex.

I don’t know how I know, but I know I’m not going to stop Isaac now.

He’s like me. He doesn’t play by the rules.

Except he’s not like me. He doesn’t even try to follow the rules.

I’m standing here trying not to cause a scene, but Isaac doesn’t care.

That’s what draws me to him. Why am I even trying to control him?

“Are you seriously still standing here?” Isaac said.

His voice sent gooseflesh up and down my arms. It was both a turn-on and alarming.

“You cheated on her. Publicly. Got off scot free while she took all the heat. The media painted her as the problem, the emotional wreck, the reason everything fell apart. And you just stood by and let it happen. Coward.”

My breath caught. No one had ever said it like that before. Not even me. I hadn’t dared.

Isaac’s jaw flexed, muscles working beneath the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“That’s bullshit. You’re a small man, Sampson.

I can’t believe you even showed your face here tonight.

A real man wouldn’t have cheated on her with her friend.

A real man would have the fucking courtesy to apologize.

A real man would have owned his mistake instead of letting a woman suffer the bullshit rumors without having the balls to come clean. ”

Isaac wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. He knew people were watching and listening and he didn’t give a shit. I swallowed the lump in my throat and glanced around the ballroom. The music was still going, but I didn’t think anyone actually heard it.

Sampson turned red. I saw it creep up from his neck to his ears like he’d been slapped.

I should’ve felt victorious. I should’ve basked in it.

But all I felt was a slow, creeping anxiety. The kind that tightened in my ribs and whispered that things were spiraling.

“Isaac,” I said, touching his arm gently. “Let’s go.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “This guy is a loser,” he said.

“I can’t believe you thought he was good enough.

” He turned his glare back to Sampson and made a show of looking him up and down.

“And dude, you were punching way above your weight and you fucked up. What kind of loser lets a woman like this go? You should have been on your knees thanking your lucky stars you got a chance with her. And your dumbass had to go and search out some whore that doesn’t deserve to be called a friend. You’re both losers.”

Sampson’s nostrils flared. This was definitely getting out of hand. We had pushed it far enough. Breaking rules was fine but this was going to go beyond ignoring the societal norms.

“Isaac, let’s go,” I said.

He nodded once, jaw still locked, and we turned to leave.

We didn’t make it more than five steps before Sampson opened his damn mouth again.

“Still the runt of the litter, huh, Bancroft?” he called after us, voice laced with scorn.

I stopped walking. Isaac didn’t.

“A bunch of billionaire pretty boys,” Sampson continued. “How many of you are there, anyway? You multiply like rats.”

I didn’t even have time to register my own reaction before Isaac spun around.

It was fast. Sudden.

He stormed up to Sampson, grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, and hauled him forward like he weighed nothing. Sampson’s eyes widened just as Isaac’s arm cocked back.

Fist clenched.

He was going to knock Sampson out.

My heart jumped to my throat. “Isaac!”

He paused. Just for a second.

His eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, I could see it—everything that was simmering just beneath his skin. Rage. Pride. Loyalty. The impulse to defend. It made my chest ache.

But what I saw clearest of all was the hesitation. Not for Sampson’s sake. For mine .

I slowly shook my head.

Please don’t.

Not here. Not like this.

His fist trembled in the air, his breath ragged.

And then, slowly, he lowered his arm. Let go of Sampson’s suit. Took a single step back.

Sampson stumbled slightly. The color drained from his face.

He looked stunned. And maybe a little afraid.

He was so used to being able to talk shit to anyone and everyone and assuming he was just going to get away with it.

That’s because everyone else was afraid to break the rules.

People in our social circle talked shit all the time.

It was always whispered gossip and snide comments and everyone just went along with it or pretended they didn’t hear it.

But not Isaac. He didn’t seem to be chained by the same rules. If he didn’t like something, he said it. Boldly.

I watched Isaac come back to me. I breathed a sigh of relief. We were getting the hell out of here. It was enough partying for one night.

And then everything happened at once.

Security swarmed us, appearing from nowhere like hounds released from a cage. Dad was right behind them, yelling something about decorum and “unacceptable behavior at a Duvall event.” I barely heard him.

Two of the guards grabbed Isaac by the arms, not roughly at first—but then one shoved him hard, like he wanted to make a point. I moved toward them instinctively.

“Don’t touch him like that,” I snapped.

“Mina,” my father barked. “Stay out of this.”

“No.”

Isaac didn’t fight the guards. He let them lead him away. He looked over his shoulder once. I couldn’t tell if he was apologizing or if he was pissed at me.

I tried to follow. I really did. But Dad stepped in front of me, blocking my path with an outstretched arm.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“You’re throwing him out?” I demanded, anger searing through me. “He didn’t even hit Sampson!”

“He nearly did.”

“But he didn’t. Because I asked him not to. Sampson is the one that wouldn’t leave me alone. Isaac was standing up for me.”

“You shouldn’t be involved in this in the first place,” Dad said.

I shoved past him, but another security guard stepped in, hands outstretched.

“Miss Duvall, I’m sorry, but Mr. Bancroft has to leave.”

“I’m going with him,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” Dad said, grabbing my arm. “You’re staying here. You’re not going to humiliate yourself further.”

That did it. I turned on him, voice ice cold.

“You mean like when I found out my fiancé cheated on me, and you told me to keep quiet for the sake of his reputation?”

The words hit their mark. Dad’s expression faltered, but only for a second. He tightened his jaw.

“That’s not the same?—”

“It’s exactly the same,” I snapped. “And I’m not doing that anymore. I’m done being the good girl who smiles through being stepped on.”

He blinked, stunned silent for once.

I took the opportunity to shove past him with my head held high.