ISABELLA'S POV
The apartment had quieted.
Agnes was in her room, probably plotting chaos or moisturizing aggressively.
Mrs. Regina had retreated to wherever birds and judgmental spirits go to regroup.
And Jace… Jace was still standing in my living room like he didn’t want to leave.
I watched him lean casually against the doorframe, jacket folded over his arm, black shirt clinging to his very not-business-only body like it had secrets.
“You should go,” I said softly, arms folded more to protect myself than anything else.
He nodded once, but didn’t move. His eyes lingered—on my face, my lips, my bare feet. It was like he was memorizing things he had no right to remember.
Then he stepped closer. So close, I could smell his cologne again—smoky vanilla and quiet danger. The kind of scen
