The days blurred into weeks, and Isla had grown accustomed to the frigid atmosphere of the Blackwood estate. Her marriage to Killian was nothing more than a legal contract, but something was shifting. She could feel it. Though Killian remained distant, his indifference wasn’t as effortless as before. She noticed the subtle things—the way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his jaw clenched whenever Celeste spoke to her, the way his fingers curled into fists when she held herself with quiet defiance. There were cracks in his carefully built armor. But every time she tried to peer inside, he shut the door before she could step through. ---One evening, Isla was in the library, seeking solace in the quiet. Books had always been her escape, and tonight, she needed it more than ever. Celeste had spent the entire afternoon throwing barbed insults her way, barely concealing her disdain. Worse, Killian had barely acknowledged her presence at dinner, making her feel like a
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel shimmered under the dazzling glow of crystal chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of champagne and designer perfume. It was the kind of event where billionaires solidified alliances, where high society preened, and where every interaction was a game of power.Isla stood at the edge of it all, her hand tightening around the stem of her untouched champagne flute. The evening was supposed to be a show of unity—a chance for her and Killian to present their marriage as unshakable. Instead, he had barely acknowledged her since they arrived.Instead, he was with Celeste.The woman draped on his arm, laughing at his every word, was her stepsister and his supposed "fiancée." The very woman who had taken every opportunity to humiliate her behind closed doors. Now, in front of flashing cameras and scrutinizing eyes, Killian had chosen to flaunt her like a prized possession.A sharp pang twisted in Isla’s chest, but she masked it with an impassive ex
Isla’s heart pounded as she threw open the doors to their bedroom. The echoes of the evening’s humiliation still burned in her veins, each whisper, each smirk, each dismissive glance from Killian replaying in her mind like a cruel joke. Her hands shook as she grabbed the first suitcase she could find, yanking open the closet doors with a vengeance.She had endured enough.If he wanted to treat her like she was nothing, she would show him just how easily she could disappear from his life.Furious tears blurred her vision as she pulled dresses off hangers, tossing them into the open suitcase. Shoes, makeup, jewelry—all reminders of this toxic, hollow marriage—were discarded like the illusions they had once been. She refused to be his pawn, his burden, his puppet on display while he paraded around with Celeste.A cold voice cut through the silence. “Going somewhere?”Isla froze, her fingers tightening around a silk blouse. The deep baritone of Killian’s voice sent a shiver down her spine
The sun barely broke through the gray clouds over the Blackwood estate, casting muted light across the grand hall. Isla sat at the long dining table, untouched breakfast in front of her, eyes fixed on the steaming cup of coffee she had no intention of drinking. She wasn’t hungry. She was angry. After last night, after Killian’s warning, she had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she had let herself get tangled in his world, in his web. And worse, how she had let herself believe, even for a second, that there was something beneath his icy facade worth holding on to. No more. The butler set down a fresh plate of croissants, bowing his head slightly before stepping away. Isla sighed, pushing the food farther from her. A quiet clicking of heels against the marble floor made her tense.Celeste. The woman who had tormented her since childhood, now playing the role of Killian’s fiancée while Isla was reduced to nothing more than a ghost in her own marriage. “You look dr
The storm had come out of nowhere. The sky, once a dull gray, had deepened into an ominous black as thunder rumbled across the horizon. Heavy raindrops pounded against the pavement, turning the Blackwood estate’s vast courtyard into a glistening sheet of water. Isla barely noticed. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else as she stormed down the driveway. She didn’t care that she had no destination. She didn’t care that her dress was soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin. All she knew was that she had to get away. Away from the suffocating walls of the Blackwood mansion. Away from Killian.Her hands clenched into fists as she replayed their last conversation in her mind—the way he had looked at her with that infuriating mix of detachment and possession. He thought he could control her. He thought she would bend and break just because he said so. Not anymore. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the car. Not until it was t
The morning sunlight spilled through the grand windows of the Blackwood estate, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. Isla sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea absentmindedly, her mind elsewhere. Across from her, Killian sat with his usual air of indifference, his fingers scrolling through his phone, a steaming cup of black coffee untouched beside him.It had been a week since the accident, a week since Killian had shielded her with his own body, proving—if only for a moment—that beneath his icy demeanor, something else lurked. But after that night, he had returned to his cold, distant self, shutting her out as though nothing had changed.But for Isla, everything had changed.She was done waiting for Killian Blackwood to acknowledge her, done feeling like an unwanted ghost haunting the halls of his empire. If she was going to survive in this world, she needed to build something of her own.Placing her cup down with deliberate softness, she looked up. "I'm going out t
Isla hadn’t expected to be noticed so quickly. Her first week at *Harrison & Co.* had been overwhelming, but she found solace in the work. There was something freeing about designing spaces, bringing visions to life. It gave her a purpose—one she desperately needed.But she hadn’t anticipated the attention that came with it.It started at a charity gala, an event her boss insisted she attend. As an up-and-coming designer in Manhattan’s elite circles, networking was key. She had been reluctant at first, but when she arrived, she realized how much she had missed feeling confident, feeling seen.And someone definitely saw her.Nicholas Vaughn.A name that carried almost as much weight as Blackwood in the world of business. He was charming, refined, and devastatingly handsome. More importantly, he was interested in her—not as Killian Blackwood’s wife, but as Isla Blackwood, the designer making a name for herself.When he approached her with a knowing smirk and an extended hand, she didn’t
The mansion was silent except for the faint sound of the city humming outside. Isla stood near the window, arms crossed over her chest as she gazed at the endless Manhattan skyline. The night stretched before her like a vast, open road—a road she wished she could escape down, far from the chaos of Killian Blackwood.The tension between them had been unbearable since the gala. Every interaction was a battlefield. He had ignored her for days, but his presence still loomed, an ever-present storm ready to unleash its fury. The sound of approaching footsteps made her straighten, but she refused to turn around. She already knew who it was. "You’ve been avoiding me," Killian’s voice was deep, controlled, yet there was a rough edge to it. Isla scoffed, still not looking at him. "That’s ironic, coming from the man who ignores me whenever it’s convenient."A sharp exhale. "That night at the gala—"She finally turned, her gaze meeting his with defiance. "What about it?" His jaw clenched. "Ni
Isla Carter stirred her coffee with deliberate purpose, watching the dark liquid swirl in slow arcs. Across the small table, Killian Blackwood sat still, his own cup untouched, both hands wrapped around the ceramic as though it would hold him.They'd been sitting there in that strained silence for nearly ten minutes, the city sounds outside breaking through every now and then. The atmosphere was thick with all the things they weren't saying."You said you wanted to earn my trust," Isla said at last, setting her spoon down with care, her voice measured. "Start now. Be truthful. Everything. No filters. No rehearsed apologies. Just the ugly, hard truth."Killian looked back at her, and in that instant, she saw the exhaustion in his eyes—not physical, but emotional, soul-deep. He looked like a man who had finally decided to stop running from himself."I played it to be near you," he began, his tone low but clear. "It was strategy at first. You were with someone I needed to use as leverage
The fog clung to the city in the morning like a memory that would not let go. Isla Carter leaned against the high window of her new studio apartment, coffee cup cradled in her hand, watching the fog curl and peel back from the skyline. There was something lovely about the sight. It was imperfect, cluttered with buildings and scaffolding and the ceaseless hum of the waking world. But it was hers. No penthouse dreams. No designer illusions. Just a small space, filled with second-hand furniture and the scent of jasmine from the plant she had put by the door.She had begun to rebuild.The past several weeks had graven lines of resilience onto her bones. Her mornings remained still, her nights often emptier than she'd ever dare acknowledge, but between—she was herself once more. She painted. She journaled. She met strangers who didn't recognize her history and didn't inquire. That anonymity was a gift.And Killian Blackwood.He hadn't stopped reaching out.Not strangling. No theatrics late
The rain returned like an old memory—unwanted, but not quite unmissed.Isla Carter stood in the window of her new apartment, arms crossed, as the city disappeared behind the curtain of falling water. The soft pitter-patter on the glass should have been soothing. Instead, it woke up the weight in her chest that never really went away.She had started again, hadn't she? New apartment. New clients. New schedule that didn't involve Killian Blackwood. Her name was on the lease this time. Her name was on the company licenses. It was all hers, hers and hers alone.And yet, there were days when she caught herself waiting for him to walk through the door like he was waiting there for her. Like he used to.She brushed the idea away and turned from the window. The doorbell sounded.She hadn't been expecting anyone.She dried her hands on her slacks, Isla coming and peering through the peephole. Her heart stuttered.Killian.Raindrops dripped through the shoulders of his coat. His hair inky black
Sunlight poured through the window of the coffee shop as Isla Carter and Killian Blackwood stepped out into the newly vacant street. The smell of rain was still in the air, fresh and infused with a gentle kind of hope. Neither of them said a word for a moment or two. It wasn't an uneasy silence but one that was heavy with the weight of all that hadn't been spoken—the past, the hurt, the what's-next."Do you want to walk a little bit?" Killian asked, his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his coat, his voice quiet.Isla nodded. "Yeah."They started walking down the sidewalk, falling into step without speaking. The city swirled around them—living, bustling—but their lives had been narrowed to this moment, this tenuous peace between them. Isla had no idea what would be next after this moment. But for the first time, she wasn't running from her feelings, and Killian wasn't hiding behind motivation.They reached the park, familiar yet altered in the way things are when viewed through diff
The following days were filled with a tense, quiet rhythm—a condition of cautious peace. Killian Blackwood did nothing. He didn't stick around. He called every day, just a friendly calling-in: *Do you need anything? May I bring something?*Isla Carter never heard him like this. soft before. There was a reserve in his voice, as if he were pacing on thin ice, not wanting to shatter the delicate balance she'd begun to restore.She didn't always pick up. Sometimes she let the phone ring out. But she listened to the voicemails.And every night, she looked at the empty space on the other side of her bed and wondered why the pain had not lessened.On the fourth day, she opened her front door to find a package. A hardcover book sat on the welcome mat, wrapped in brown paper and twine. There was no note. But she knew it was from him.It was the same novel they'd argued about previously at that bookstore near his penthouse. The one she'd called overhyped, and he'd said she hadn't had a decent s
The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Isla Carter's cottage, casting soft golden shafts that crept across the wooden floorboards. It had rained during the night, but now all was glittering with dew, as though nature itself had decided to cleanse the past.Isla awoke beneath the quilted blankets of her grandmother's old bed, her mind already racing with the events of last night. Her heart thudded with a mix of disbelief and something more tender. Not quite trust. Not yet. But its ghost.She turned her head a little and discovered Killian Blackwood sleeping in the armchair across the room, his large frame uncomfortably slouched, his head resting on the wooden back, and his dark lashes casting a shadow on his cheekbones. He looked. human. Vulnerable. Not the invincible magnate who had once discarded her like a broken deal.Just a man who had stayed.She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. But his eyes fluttered open anyway."Morning," he murmured, his voice gravelly w
Morning light streamed through the transparent curtains of Isla Carter's loft, casting golden threads across the wooden floor. It was quiet, peaceful, almost too still.Isla stood by the kitchen window, a cup of steaming chamomile tea held in her hands. Her eyes followed the soft sway of the trees beyond the window, but her mind was elsewhere. The words from Killian Blackwood the night before had stuck with her, each one ringing with the finality of something that could not be undone."I want to be worthy of you, Isla. Even if it takes the rest of my life.".Those words had unraveled something inside her, something she'd fought to tighten up in past months. She'd rebuilt herself from the ground up. Improved. Intelligent. But also better guarded.Yet Killian returned — not the cold, rational man who formerly considered love an exchange, but a rough, unfinished, and terrifyingly real person.There was a knock that interrupted her thoughts.She spun towards the door, already pounding wit
The next morning, after Killian Blackwood's offer, was bright and beautiful, the kind of golden light that made all things seem fresh. Isla Carter awoke with her hand still lying softly over the engagement ring on her finger, her heart still skipping a beat in disbelief and joy. The previous night had seemed like a dream created, but the sparkle of the diamond and the heat of Killian's arms about her reminded her it was real.She rolled over in bed to find him already awake, lying on one elbow, looking at her with quiet respect."Morning, fiancée," he whispered, voice low with sleep and love.She laughed, stretching out. "Morning, fiancé."He got up and kissed her softly, his thumb tracing her cheek. "We have to get up. Big day today."She groaned. "I just want to lie here and pretend the world doesn't exist."He smiled, his face buried in her hair. "Tempting. But I promised a very clever woman that we would do something real."Her heart skipped another beat.Isla threw off the covers
For a couple of days, it looked like the storm had actually passed.The made-up stories fell out of the headlines.A formal denial from Marcus's so-called "anonymous sources" appeared, recanting all the charges. The donors who had pulled out of Haven's Hope began calling again, bearing apologies and tentative promises of aid.The shelter breathed again.The town itself, cautiously at first, but ever more warmly, welcomed Killian Blackwood back home.But Killian wasn't the same man anymore.He'd surrendered his empire, his riches, and his fine reputation for Isla Carter.And even though he didn't resent it — not one minute of it — the weight of it came upon him now and then on nights that stretched interminable and sleepless.He didn't tell Isla everything.Not yet.Not with the phone calls he wasn't returning from old friends who now saw him as a liability.Not with the lawyers circling like vultures over the deals Marcus had bullied him into signing.Not with the creeping, insidious