ISLA’S POV
Days passed in tense silence. I had been avoiding Oliver, unsure of how to deal with the strange mix of frustration and tenderness I felt after our last argument. Every time I thought of Ethan, guilt twisted in my stomach—not because I’d done anything wrong, but because I hated how my friendship with him had driven a wedge between Oliver and me.
I was in the middle of sorting through some papers when Oliver stepped into the study. His presence was commanding, as always, and I immediately felt the room shift. I didn’t look up, hoping he’d leave if I ignored him long enough.
“We have a function to attend,” he announced, his tone firm but devoid of its usual sharpness.
I finally glanced up. “A function?”
“Yes,” he said, his expression impassive. “It’s important. Some dignitari
