Isla’s POV
Sleep came like a tide that dragged me under rather than lifted me to rest. The villa was quiet after the storm of cameras, but silence did not soothe me. It magnified everything. The echo of reporters calling my name. The sensation of Chase’s hand holding mine with real warmth instead of staged pressure. The soft press of his lips against my forehead that still burned faintly on my skin like a brand hidden beneath the layers of pretending. I lay in the bed that was never meant for me, staring at the ceiling while the memory replayed again and again until exhaustion finally blurred the edges of thought.
My dreams arrived with no logic. They unfolded like stories from a life that did not belong to this world. I stood beneath moonlight, dressed not in Cassandra’s clothes, but in
