Isla’s POV
I was in the kitchen, humming softly as I chopped vegetables for dinner. It had been another long day of trying to navigate Oliver’s moods. His company was really going through a tough time and I was trying my best to be there for him but no matter how much I tried, Oliver never really wanted to let me into what exactly was going on.
But I didn’t need any soothsayer to tell me that things were about to take an unimaginable turn.
The sound of the front door slamming startled me, and I looked up just in time to see Oliver stride into the room. His face was a mixture of anger and exhaustion.
“Oliver,” I began cautiously, putting the knife down. “Are you okay? You look—”
He cut me off, his voice sharp. “We need to talk, Isla.”
I blinked, startled by his tone. “What’s wrong?”
