The Blackwood estate was suffocating. Each hallway, each grandly decorated room, each polished floorboard felt like another part of Isla’s prison. It didn’t matter how luxurious it was—golden cages were still cages. And she was trapped.After her last confrontation with Killian, sleep had eluded her. She had spent the entire night pacing her bedroom, restless, furious, desperate for some kind of escape. But every path led back to the same bitter truth—Killian wasn’t letting her go.And Celeste was doing everything in her power to ensure she stayed in her place.A knock at the door jolted Isla from her thoughts. Before she could respond, it creaked open, and to her surprise, it wasn’t Killian.It was Dante.Killian’s right-hand man. His enforcer. A man as ruthless as he was unreadable."Boss wants to see you," Dante said, his voice flat as he leaned against the doorframe.Isla’s stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral. "Tell him I’m not interested."Dante smirked. "Not exac
The east wing of the Blackwood estate was as eerie as Isla had expected. Dust coated the antique furniture, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the high ceilings. The air was cold, untouched by warmth or life. The windows were large, but thick velvet curtains blocked out most of the light, making the place feel like a forgotten ghost town within the mansion’s walls.Killian wanted her to feel isolated.But Isla refused to break.She spent the first night curled up on the massive bed, unable to sleep. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on her like a heavy weight. She wasn’t sure what scared her more—the stillness of the room or the fact that, despite everything, part of her still ached for the man who had put her here.She kept replaying his words in her head. The threat, the possessiveness. And yet, beneath all of that, she had seen the flicker of something else. Something deeper. Regret? Guilt? She didn’t know.By the time the sun peeked through the curtains, she had barely s
The world felt like it was spinning out of control. Isla could hear the frantic whispers, the chimes of endless phone notifications, the growing tension in the air. The scandal had broken.Her pregnancy was no longer a secret.The news was everywhere—social media, tabloids, online forums. The headline was plastered across every major news outlet:"Killian Blackwood’s Secret Lover Pregnant—Who is the Mystery Woman?"A lump formed in Isla’s throat as she scrolled through the articles on her phone, her hands trembling. Photos of her had been leaked—some taken at public events where she had been by Killian’s side, others were more invasive, stolen from the shadows like a predator lurking just beyond her sight. Some shots even highlighted the slight curve of her stomach, dissecting every detail with ruthless scrutiny.She felt sick.This wasn’t how she wanted the world to know.Killian hadn’t even processed the news himself properly, and now the entire world had an opinion on it. And worse
The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a cold glow through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Killian’s penthouse. Isla stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, trying to steady the storm raging within her. The news of her pregnancy had exploded in the media like wildfire, and there was no doubt who was behind the leak—Celeste.Killian had been unusually silent since the story broke, and that silence was suffocating her.The sound of the door clicking shut sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to see Killian, his expression unreadable as he set his phone down on the glass table. He looked as if he had been battling demons of his own, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense.“Say something,” Isla finally whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “The damage is done.”Her fingers curled into fists. “That’s all you have to say?”“What do you want me to say, Isla?” he
The world had erupted into chaos. Isla had barely caught her breath after Celeste's malicious revelation before the media frenzy descended upon her like vultures. Every news outlet, every social media platform was plastered with headlines that dissected and scrutinized every aspect of her life. Killian Blackwood's secret lover. A scandalous pregnancy. The heir to the Blackwood fortune.Isla paced inside the confines of Killian’s penthouse, her heart slamming against her ribs as she watched the news coverage. Paparazzi swarmed the entrance of the building, their cameras flashing like lightning, waiting to capture her downfall.Killian stood by the window, his posture stiff, his jaw locked. He had been silent since the press conference, his expression unreadable. The weight of his presence filled the room, suffocating her as much as the suffocating glare of the world outside."Say something," Isla finally demanded, breaking the thick silence. "Aren’t you going to do anything?"Killian t
Killian sat in his office, the weight of his entire world pressing down on his shoulders. The sun had set hours ago, but he hadn’t moved from his chair. Documents lay scattered across his desk, but none of them held his attention. Not when his mind was consumed by a single, inescapable dilemma—choosing between his engagement with Celeste and Isla, the woman who had turned his world upside down.He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling sharply. The logical part of him told him that Celeste was the right choice. Their engagement had been meticulously planned, an alliance between two powerful families. But Isla… she was the chaos he never expected, the storm that had wrecked his carefully constructed walls. And the mother of his child.A sharp knock at the door shattered his thoughts. He knew who it was before even looking up.“Come in,” he said, his voice low, drained.Isla stepped inside, her expression unreadable. She had changed out of the soft loungewear she had been wear
The tension in the Blackwood estate was suffocating. It wrapped around Isla like an iron vice, each moment stretching unbearably long as she waited for Killian to make a choice—his fiancée or her. The weight of his silence, his hesitation, only deepened the wound that had already split open inside her.She had never truly believed she could win against Celeste. The woman was a force of nature, perfectly sculpted into the kind of partner Killian had always been expected to have. Sophisticated, ruthless, untouchable. Isla, in contrast, was the unexpected disruption, the messy storm that had unsettled the balance of his life.The morning light poured through the large windows of the estate, illuminating the grand dining room where Killian sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. Isla stood at the opposite end, her arms crossed over her chest, her stomach twisting with unease. Celeste, ever poised, was seated beside him, one hand resting on his forearm in a display of owne
Isla sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of her temporary apartment, watching the city lights twinkle against the night sky. It had been three days since she had seen Killian—three days since he had walked out of her life without a single word.She told herself she was fine. She told herself this was exactly what she wanted. But the ache in her chest told a different story.Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of the tea cup in her hand, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold that had settled in her bones. Just as she took a sip, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment, startling her.Her heart leaped to her throat.No. It couldn't be.She set the cup down and cautiously approached the door, her fingers trembling as she reached for the handle. When she pulled it open, her breath hitched.Killian stood there, drenched from the rain, his white shirt clinging to his sculpted frame. His normally pristine appearance was in disarray—his tie hung loosely, his hair was a mess,
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