ISABELLA’S POV
“Stop pacing.”
My mother’s voice sliced through the room, quiet, controlled… but strained.
I didn’t stop.
My heels struck the marble harder, faster. Each step echoed like a ticking clock, like something inside me was running out.
If I stopped, I’d lose control and I couldn’t afford that.
“I said stop,” she repeated, her voice softer this time.
Her hand rested on my shoulder, warm and steady.
I froze.
Not because I wanted comfort.
Because I needed control.
Slowly, I turned my head.
She stood behind me, her fingers slipping into my hair, smoothing it down the way she used to when I was little—when things were simple.
Before power had a price.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re not.”
Her tone dropped, quieter now. Careful.
“I said I’m fine.”
The words came out sharpe
