Back at her hotel, Isla exhaled as the door clicked shut behind her. The room was modest, quiet, and thankfully free of stage lights and cameras. She had chosen the place herself, opting for comfort over glamour—something tucked between a coffee shop and a secondhand bookstore, where no one would recognize her name.
The first thing she did was shed the weight of the day—figuratively and literally. Off came the blazer, the dress. Her heels were kicked off unceremoniously at the door. A hot shower followed, washing away the makeup and the tension, letting her breathe again in her own skin.
She stood in front of the small mirror, toweling her hair dry, rolling her shoulders like she could shake off the last hour’s chaos. What was she even doing? Dinner with Nathan Hayes? After everything? A
