The morning light streamed into the kitchen, gilding the marble countertops in soft gold.
The house smelled like pancakes and syrup and fresh coffee—comforting things that somehow only made the knot in Isabelle’s stomach tighter.
She sat at the breakfast table, her coffee cooling untouched in front of her.
Her phone lay face down beside it, buzzing every few seconds like a heartbeat she couldn’t outrun.
Everyone had seen last night.
Everyone had decided what it meant.
With a shaky breath, Isabelle flipped the phone over.
And immediately regretted it.
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Her screen flooded with pictures.
One of Sebastian leaning down to fix Amelia’s tiara, his hand brushing Isabelle’s as they laughed.
Another of Elliott asleep against he
