ISLA
The sound of Oliver’s footsteps echoed through the house long after our tense breakfast ended. I stayed seated at the dining table, my hands shaking as I stared at the empty plate before me. The lingering sting of his words still clung to me. I’ll break you and I’ll make you wish for death.
I forced myself to stand, my legs weak but determined. I couldn’t afford to crumble, not now. As I carried the dishes to the sink, I heard him approaching again, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. I straightened my spine, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.
He stopped in the doorway, his presence as imposing as ever. “Isla,” he said, his tone even but laced with authority. “I’m having guests over tonight. Friends. We’ll be dining here.”
I didn’t respond right away, simply focusing on
