The next morning, Isabella awoke earlier than usual.
The mansion was unusually quiet. Even the ever-busy household staff seemed to move more gently today, as if sensing something delicate hung in the air.
She got dressed, choosing a beige silk blouse and tailored black trousers—not armor, but neither was it soft enough to invite conversation. Her heels clicked softly across the marble floor as she made her way to the garden.
There, under the pergola where she used to drink tea on quiet Sunday mornings, sat an unexpected figure.
Elena.
Alexander's younger sister. Sharp-tongued. Protective. And one of the few people who'd never warmed to Isabella during her marriage.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Elena said, not looking up from her phone.
"I could say the same," Isabella replied, taking a seat across from her, uninvited.
A long silence followed, but it wasn't awkward. It was measured, like two swords drawn but not yet swung.
"I heard you're back," Elena finally said.
"I never really left."
Elena gave a dry laugh. "Sure you did. You disappeared. Left Alexander in pieces."
Isabella narrowed her eyes. "And what about me? You think I walked away whole?"
"You walked away free."
"No. I walked away shattered. You just never saw the cracks."
Their eyes locked—two very different women who'd loved the same man in very different ways.
Elena leaned back, crossing her arms. "So why are you really here, Isabella? Don't tell me it's for charity."
Isabella's answer was immediate. "I'm here because I never stopped loving him."
Elena blinked. It wasn't the answer she expected.
For a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Doubt? Understanding? Regret?
Then she stood. "He's not the same man you left. You'll have to decide if you still want what's left of him."
She walked off without waiting for a response.
Isabella sat alone beneath the morning sun, heart tangled, head spinning.
The past was no longer a memory—it was clawing its way back into her present.
And she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to survive it this time.