Isabella’s POV
The next morning came too soon. My eyes snapped open to the soft sound of waves crashing outside, but it wasn’t peace that filled me — it was dread. For a fleeting second, I thought it was just a nightmare, that I would wake up in my own bed, sunlight streaming through my familiar window. But the ceiling above me was too high, the air too heavy, and the sheets too pristine for that to be true.
I was still here.
Still captive.
Still his prisoner.
I pushed myself upright, my throat dry. Someone had been in the room. I knew it the moment I spotted the neatly folded pile of clothes on the chair by the vanity. Dresses, undergarments, even toiletries were lined up with precision, as if chosen carefully for me. Like I was some porcelain doll to be dressed up and contained.
