The wind ripped through the streets like it had teeth.
Isla stood on the safe house balcony Gabriel had procured for her some hours earlier, far from Damien, far from the look in his eyes when she walked away. She had wrapped her arms so tightly around herself, not to warm up, but to hold it all inside.
She regretted that she still sensed him. In her veins. In her breath.
Even now.
Even after that photo.
Valeria had known b****y well what she was doing. It had been a conscious choice of timing. The message was poisonous, on point and very well delivered.
And Isla had devoured it whole.
She should’ve turned around and left at the first sight of it.
But she hadn’t.
She’d stayed.
She’d waited for Damien to explain, to deny it, to fight for her.
And when he didn’t…
She left before
