Chapter 13: Issac’s POV

She didn’t come back that night.

I waited. Longer than I should have.

By midnight, I’d convinced myself she’d walked away—and maybe she should have.

The halls felt emptier than usual. The silence thickens. Even the air was different without her in it.

I stood by the library window, staring out at the driveway like I was expecting headlights to slice through the trees and tell me she hadn’t changed her mind.

But the gates stayed closed.

And the shadows stayed still.

I poured a second drink I didn’t want.

The burn in my chest had nothing to do with the whiskey.

The knock came softly. Too polite.

I didn’t turn.

I knew that perfume before she opened the door.

Daphne.

“You’re still awake,” she said, voice smooth as glass.

She came in barefoot, a silk robe draped like it cost more than most people’s rent, holding a half-filled glass of red in one hand.

I didn’t respond. Just looked past her, at the fire.

“You’re brooding again,” she added, stepping closer. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“And yet you came.”

She laughed lightly, circling the desk between us. Her fingers trailed along the edge like she owned the furniture—and everything that ever happened in this room.

“Thought you might enjoy some company.”

She held out the glass. “You never drink with me.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

I looked at her. That wasn’t her usual opening.

“For what?”

“For earlier. In the kitchen.” She walked further into the room. “It wasn’t… appropriate. I lost my temper.”

I raised a brow. “You shattered a plate and slapped a guest.”

“She’s not a guest. She’s staff.”

That tone—it was only ever tender when she wanted something.

“But you’re right,” she said, voice softening again. “Avery shouldn’t have seen that. It wasn’t fair to her.”

She crossed the room slowly, like she was offering peace.

Noticed the untouched drink on my desk.

“I know I’m not a mother—but I’m trying.”

That hung there between us. Too practiced.

“And Gabriella… she’s young. Beautiful. It’s easy to feel… replaced.”

There it was.

The real reason she came.

I said nothing.

Daphne took it as permission to step closer.

“I don’t care who you sleep with, Isaac. I never have,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But if you start feeling for someone else… if you let her affect how you treat me, how this house functions—“

Her eyes locked into mine.

“Then we’ll both regret it.”

Not jealousy. Not even anger.

Territory.

Possession.

Control disguised as affection.

The exact reason I married her.

Not for love. Not for family. Not even for legacy.

I married Daphne because she was predictable.

Because she came from money that matched mine, with secrets of her own.

Because she didn’t ask for more than appearances.

Because she didn’t want love. She wanted leverage.

And I needed a name that wouldn’t ask questions.

Someone who understood that every room in this house was built on appearances, not intimacy.

I’d already buried love once.

Sarah.

Avery’s mother.

The only woman who ever saw me without the masks.

The only one I ever let in.

And the one who paid for it.

I’d promised myself after her—I would never love another woman.

Not like that.

Not with my whole name.

And I kept that promise.

“You’ve said what you came to say,” I replied, voice even. “Now leave.”

Daphne tilted her head, the smile still coiled at the edges of her lips. “Is she worth that?”

That was when my phone rang.

A sharp, vibrating buzz that cut through the tension like a blade.

Gabriella.

Her name lit up on the screen.

Daphne’s gaze flicked to it. For a second—just one second—something shifted in her eyes.

Then she reached forward and, before I could move, her fingers wrapped around the phone.

She clicked the call away.

Silence.

A beat passed.

I looked at her.

Dead in the eye.

“Put. The phone. Down.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her other hand, slow and poised, and pressed two fingers to my lips.

Like it was a game.

Like she was daring me to break character.

I grabbed her wrist and yanked it away, not roughly, but finally.

Her smile didn’t crack. It deepened.

“I was your wife long before she started playing pretend in your garden,” she said calmly, brushing her hair back with the hand I’d just pushed off. “You forget that sometimes. But I don’t.”

I opened my mouth to respond—but the knock on the study door came like thunder.

Three firm raps. Security.

Perfect timing.

I moved past her and opened it.

Jonan stood there, breath sharp, his earpiece pressed tighter to his jaw.

“Sir, Miss Gabriella just called the house. She said there’s been an incident…”

My chest went still.

“Is she in?”

“No, sir. She called from the road. Someone was shot. She didn’t give details—“

I didn’t speak.

Not yet.

I just turned—slowly—back to the woman standing by the fire.

Daphne didn’t move.

She was still swirling her wine like nothing had cracked the night wide open.

But her eyes…

They didn’t blink.

They didn’t ask questions.

They already knew.