The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the jazz record spinning on the turntable. The rich notes curled through the air, mingling with the soft clink of ice melting in a glass, the distant murmur of the twins sleeping down the hall.
Isabelle curled into the corner of the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a glass of wine in hand. It had been a long day—one of those days where exhaustion settled deep in her bones, but she still found herself restless.
She’d planned for a quiet evening.
No stress. No drama.
But then Sebastian walked in.
Her gaze flickered up automatically. He had discarded his suit jacket, the top button of his shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. It was the kind of look that was effortlessly put together, yet frustratingly casual at the same ti
