Isla’s POV
The weeks after I broke down did not move forward.
They hovered.
Time did not heal. It tightened. Every day carried the weight of what had almost been said, almost done, almost admitted. The mansion felt quieter than ever, like it was holding its breath along with us. Chase did not retreat after that night. He did not pretend it had not happened. But he did not push either.
He stayed.
Sometimes close.
Sometimes distant.
Always aware.
He checked on me without hovering. Sat beside me without touching. Spoke to me with a softness that made my chest ache. When our hands brushed now, neither of us flinched. When our eyes met, something passed between us that was too fragile to name and too heavy to ignore.
The tension did not fade.
It burned quietly.
That night, the house
