Isabella’s POV
Ian drove us back to Winston Mansion in silence—the kind that had been building for three months until it finally became too heavy to contain.
I stared out the windshield, my gaze fixed on the road ahead. There was nothing left to say. Everything had either been spoken in that hallway or left unspoken. And somehow, the words we never said echoed louder than the ones we did. I could feel them hanging in the space between us.
My wrist still tingled where his hand had been.
As Winston Mansion came into view beyond the gates, I watched it rise before us as it always did—grand, imposing, and effortlessly commanding. It had never needed to announce its presence. It simply existed, and that was enough.
Ian stopped the car and got out.
I got out too.
Margaret had left a ligh
