ISABELLA
Logan’s home wasn’t just a house. It was an entire estate, sprawling and grand, built with wealth and precision.
The kind of place you saw in magazines, with high gates and gardens that stretched endlessly, paths winding between marble statues and fountains that probably cost more than my entire life’s savings.
Even now, with the moon casting shadows and the night air cool against my skin, it was overwhelming.
We walked in silence for a while, and the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes. Logan had his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t the kind of man who forced conversation, and I appreciated that.
Still, silence left too much room for thought, and I needed noise, distraction, something to pull me away from the memories clawin
