Page 8 of Isaia

The thrill that rushes through my blood takes me by surprise—the idea of her feeling my gaze on her skin, aware of my presence. It’s a different kind of high, one I’m instantly addicted to.

She steps inside, the door clicking shut behind her, and a light flickers on in the front window.

I should leave. There’s no threat here. No signal waiting to be intercepted, no shady meeting about to go down. But my feet stay rooted.

Minutes pass before the door opens again, and she steps out with a bowl in one hand, her book in the other.

She's wearing a pair of black-framed glasses, the kind that sit perfectly on her nose, completing her innocent, almost studious look. It gives her an air of quiet charm, making her seem even more unreachable, like the girl next door who doesn’t know she’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.

Why? Because she intrigues me. She’s demanding all my attention without even trying, my heart beating fast with each passing minute.

Luna trots out after her, nose twitching as Everly places the food bowl on the porch. The dog digs in eagerly, tail wagging, and Everly smiles, that quiet, content smile that eases every crease from her face.

I wonder what she’s like in the middle of the night, when the world is quiet, and the darkness wraps around her like a blanket.

Does she still wear that gentle smile? Or does something else take over—something deeper, more vulnerable?

When the distractions of the day are gone, and it’s just her, alone with her thoughts, does she still hold on to that light? Or does the weight of the world press in on her?

She sits on the porch swing, draping a cozy blanket over her lap before sinking into the cushions, opening her book, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages.

There’s something unnerving about watching her like this. It’s intimate, almost. It’s like I’ve cracked open a window into a life that’s completely foreign to me, a life that doesn’t have room for the kind of man I am.

A man who only knows how to ruin things.

Her life seems too soft, too far removed from the sharp edges of mine. Part of me wonders what it’s like, living in that kind of peace.

And the other part? The other part wants to drag her into my world, see how long that softness would last, see if she’d survive, or if she’d shatter.

The swing creaks softly, the night air growing cooler, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She wraps the blanket tighter, her world still untouched.

Something buried deep, dark, wants me to step back, to let her keep that peace. But that’s not what I do. I don’t leave things untouched. I ruin them.

Especially when they seem too good to be true.

Chapter 3

ISAIA

Somehow, I’ve managed to tear myself away from her once she disappeared into the house, lights switching off one by one. It was the strangest feeling, like I was anchored there, unable to walk away.

Every part of me was captivated by her, as if something deeper had taken hold—something I couldn’t shake. I felt trapped, mesmerized by her presence, and the thought of leaving twisted in my chest.

A quiet fear crept in that if I left, she'd disappear, like the moment would slip through my fingers and never return.

This woman fascinates me—not just because of those mismatched eyes, but because of everything I glimpsed about her tonight. It’s not something I can pinpoint, but it’s there, and I’m too curious to ignore it.

Now I’m parked in front of our family home—a sprawling mansion that practically shouts wealth and power, every inch a testament to what we’ve built.

Yet, as I sit here staring at it, all I can think about is how that tiny, unimpressive house of hers holds more charm.

More…warmth.

The kind of warmth money can’t buy. And the questions she left unanswered still tangle in my mind, unfinished business pulling me back toward her.

As I push through the door into the foyer, Alexius is the first face I see. He’s standing there with arms crossed, eyes fixed on me, and I can practically feel the weight of whatever he’s about to say before he opens his mouth.

“We have to talk.”

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