ISABELLA
The room felt wrong. Too warm. Too quiet. Too still. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
Enzo stepped toward me slowly, each footfall soft against the dark wood floors. The lighting was dim — warm amber lamps casting long shadows that stretched across the room like reaching hands. The townhouse smelled faintly of cedar and something metallic underneath, something sharp that made my stomach twist.
My back hit the console table once more. I didn’t remember moving. My breath trembled. My pulse hammered. My fingers curled against the wood behind me. Enzo didn’t stop. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even pretend anymore.
“Isabella,” he murmured, voice low and almost tender. “We never finished what we started that night.”
My blood ran cold.
“What… what are you talking about?” M
