ISLA'S POV
The car arrived at exactly nine, sleek and black, a driver stepping out to open the door for me with the kind of practiced formality that made my nerves climb another notch. I'd spent the last hour second-guessing the gown, the way my hair sat against my shoulders, the whole evening ahead of me, and none of that uncertainty eased as the car wound its way through wrought-iron gates and up a long, illuminated drive.
The Blackthorne estate was larger than I'd imagined, even after everything I'd already seen of this family's wealth — stone and glass rising three stories against the dark sky, windows glowing gold from within, the kind of house that made you feel small just looking at it.
Julian was waiting on the front steps when the car pulled up, already dressed for the evening,
