Isla’s POV
The morning light filtered through the hospital blinds as I lay in bed, staring at the stark white ceiling. My arm ached slightly where the bullet had grazed it, the bandage wrapped snugly around the wound. Last night’s events still played vividly in my mind, and though the chaos had subsided, I could still feel the lingering tension.
Just as I was lost in thought, the door creaked open, and in walked Oliver. His presence filled the room, commanding as always, but there was a gentleness in his expression that caught me off guard. His arms were loaded with takeout bags, and he balanced a coffee tray precariously in one hand.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice soft yet warm. He set the bags and tray on the small table beside my bed. “I brought you breakfast. And coffee—two suga
