Eighty

The house felt weirdly quiet after the madness earlier. The police were gone. Neighbors slipped back inside. Even the wind outside seemed to have calmed down, like the world finally decided to let them breathe.

Isabella stood in the living room, staring at the door long after Alexander came back from dealing with Tracy. She didn’t even know what she was waiting for—maybe anger, maybe something else—but when he finally walked in, all she saw was him. Nothing else mattered.

He caught her eye right away.

“Bella,” he whispered.

And that was it.

She ran to him, burying her face in his chest. Her whole body shook. Everything she’d been holding back—fear for Ethan, the sting of Claire’s betrayal, the relief that Maya stepped up, the bone-deep exhaustion—it just poured out.

Alexander pulled her in closer, like he was afraid she’d slip away. “You didn’t deserve any of this,” he said into her hair. “Not a single thing.”

Isabella couldn’t answer. Her tears said everything.

Ethan peeked around Ka