Isabetta's POV
I stood outside Marco’s small art studio, my hands shook as I knocked on the worn wooden door.
I knew I should not be here, I knew this was dangerous but the pull inside my chest was stronger than my fear tonight.
Marco opened the door, and paint stains covered his old shirt, his dark hair fell messy over his forehead. Those warm brown eyes widened when he saw me, as he furrowed his brows but smiled softly.
“Isabetta?” His voice came out soft and low. “What are you doing here?”
I stepped inside without answering. The studio smelled of oil paint and turpentine. Canvases leaned against the walls, half-finished paintings filled the space.
Marco closed the door behind me and for a long moment we just stared at each other, the air felt thick with everything we had not s
