All Chapters of The Price of Peace: Book 3 In The No More Regrets Series: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Isla’s POVBy the time I pull up to the school, my stomach is already tight.It’s not because of traffic. Or work. Or the kids.It’s the feeling.That low, nagging certainty sitting in my gut, whispering that Shane is not working late. Again.I sigh as I shift the van into park. I could follow him. Shane Jr. is old enough to keep an eye on his sisters for an hour or two. I could track him, see where he really goes, confirm what I already suspect.But for what?Shane and I have been disconnected for years. Existing in the same house, breathing the same air, living parallel lives that barely touch. Still, he’s my husband. He’s still mine.Even if we don’t look like it anymore.The girls burst through the doors, backpacks bouncing, laughter loud and careless. Lily climbs in first, then Sophia, both of them talking at once.“How was school today, girls?” I ask as I pull away from the curb.“It was great, Mom!” Lily beams. “We had art. I painted a big polar bear on ice caps.”Sophia chuckl

Crandon's POVBy the time the building started to quiet down, I could feel it in my shoulders.That deep, bone level exhaustion that didn’t come from physical labor, but from thinking too much for too long. We’d been working this case for a few weeks now, and today had been nothing but independent work and I am grateful that we don't have to deal with grand courtroom theatrics yet or dramatic confrontations. We are just in the paper stage now. Testimonies and statements stacked on top of statements.The kind of work that mattered the most.I sighed as I leaned back in my chair, eyes drifting across the small conference room. Tempest sat across from me, glasses perched low on her nose, eyes scanning another witness account like it owed her something.I’d ended up working with her the most on this case, and honestly? I was grateful for it.She had an eye for detail that couldn’t be taught. She caught witness inconsistencies, subtle contradictions, patterns buried so deep you’d miss the

Isla’s POV.I sigh because I see my husband.I don’t just see him physically, no I see the changes in him. The way his jaw tightens. The way irritation flashes across his face when he wakes up and realizes I’m in his bed. His bed, the one he’s occupied for the last few years in the guest room, like this house has been divided by invisible borders neither of us knows how to cross anymore.I haven’t been this close to him in… years. Actual years.I lie there quietly, watching him sleep. He looks peaceful, stretched out fully dressed, which is insane in itself. What really gets me, though, is the smell, he smells clean of fresh floral soap and shampoo. That sharp, unmistakable scent of someone who showered away from home.I shake my head slowly.He came in well after three in the morning. I know that much. And I’m still flabbergasted, because this behavior is so unlike Shane. He used to be dependable to a fault. Up before everyone. Making breakfast. Doing the girls’ hair. Dropping them

Crandon's POVSaturday, 2:30 p.m.Rosemont, Illinois Rosemont Convention CenterI exhale slowly as I stand in front of the Crowne Plaza, hands shoved into my coat pockets, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.People flood past me in every direction, in full blown costumes, graphic tees, long capes, foam armor, face paint. Different characters from Loki to Thor. Deadpool arguing with a Batman. Every Marvel, DC, and Star Wars character, even Boba Fett was represented. Anime I don’t even recognize probably made up were in attendance.Normally, this would be my element.Today? I’m jittery.Not because it’s Chicago Comic-Con. That part I can handle. I’ve been coming to this thing off and on for years.I glance toward the bus stop again.I’m nervous because Tempest is meeting me here.She told me to stand right in front of the hotel, so here I am, right in front of the same Crowne Plaza where that awful incident happened years ago. I push the thought away and focus on the crowd.Then

Isla’s POVI blink at her.Twice.Because the way she’s looking at me tells me she’s dead serious when she asks if I’m going to offer her a real apology. And that irritates something deep in my chest, because I’ve already apologized to her, twice. So why am I sitting here feeling like I’m being put on trial all over again?She smiles slightly, bends forward, and takes another bite of her Polish. She chews slowly, unbothered, like she has all the time in the world. Then she just sits there, waiting.I let out a long breath.“Sadé, I don’t feel like I owe you another apology,” I say carefully. “I already apologized. Twice. I’m not sure why I need to keep doing it.”She nods as she chews, wipes her mouth with a napkin, and finishes her bite before she speaks.“This,” she says calmly, “is exactly what I expected from you.”I stiffen.“People who are really sorry,” she continues, “don’t stop apologizing just because they already said it once or twice. They say it every time they see you if