Back to present day...1892, Amsterdam

     In a dimly lit corner of the tavern, Lewis found himself drifting back from his mental jaunt to the past, only to realize that the enigmatic woman from earlier who had mysteriously unlocked the vault of his long-forgotten memories had vanished. 

     In her place sat a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to someone from his past. Peering through the fog of pipe smoke, the penny dropped, and there she was: Isabella.

     A tidal wave of nostalgia crashed over him, leaving him drenched in a deluge of conflicting emotions. The memories of their shared past nipped at his heels like an insistent, yapping terrier that just wouldn't quit.

     Feeling the phantom pain of their long-lost past, Lewis' grip on his glass tightened until, with an indignant crack, it surrendered and shattered in his hand.

     Isabella's voice cut through the jumbled mess of his thoughts, cool and composed as a cucumber. "Pity about your brother and wife. Must sting somewhat, their little tryst," she said, her words practically dripping with acid. 

     Lewis found himself tongue-tied, his voice having apparently gone on an extended vacation without leaving a forwarding address.

     Isabella handed a card to the bartender. It was the spitting image of the one still clutched in Lewis' hand, emblazoned with the unmistakable silhouette of a tulip bulb.

     The pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. She was the mastermind behind the revelation of his wife's affair with his brother. 

     "Put it on my tab," she said, her smile small but razor-sharp. "It's been a pleasure, Lewis." And with that, she rose and sashayed away, leaving Lewis gaping after her like a fish that had just been introduced to the perplexing concept of air.

                                                                              ***   ***   ***

     Lewis stumbled out of the shadowy bar, his mind executing an intricate dance that involved both puzzlement and a faint sense of recollection. 

     He followed Isabella into the chilly night, the meandering cobblestone streets of Amsterdam seemingly possessed of their own volition, guiding them with faltering steps until they came to a halt, side by side, in front of an art installation that could only be described as, well, an art installation.

     A light bulb cunningly crafted to resemble a tulip flower stood before them, its petals aglow with a brilliance that appeared to have been pilfered from some fantastical dimension.

     Lewis, a strapping young inventor whose mind teetered on the edge of discoveries that would probably astound even himself, found his eyes locked with Isabella's, the woman he'd once unceremoniously discarded like an old sock. 

     His dreams of progress and invention had always been front and center, but now he was caught in the gravitational pull of the woman standing before him.

     Isabella, who had once been trampled by misfortune, now stood tall and resplendent, her newfound wealth and social standing draped around her like a cloak made of money and respectability. 

     A blend of Spanish Moor and Dutch heritage, her raven hair was artfully arranged in a fashionable updo, and her eyes, which had once brimmed with innocence, now sparkled with the kind of determination that could make grown men quiver. 

     Yet, hiding within that determination, a fragile vulnerability whispered of the revenge schemes she'd carefully knitted for her former lover.

     As Lewis studied Isabella, he took note of the changes brought on by the march of time. The love and innocence of their shared past had been replaced by the heaviness of sorrow and the smoldering embers of retribution. And yet, among the flames, he sensed a lingering warmth that suggested a love not entirely snuffed out.

     Teetering on the brink of possibility, the shimmering light cast its luminous glow upon them, a twinkling beacon of hope in the gathering shadows of the night.