Isla’s POV
The morning came quietly, almost deceptively. Sunlight spilled into the mansion, painting the polished floors in golden streaks, but the usual warmth of the day felt hollow. Breakfast smells, fresh coffee, sizzling eggs, toasted bread—wafted through the air, yet I couldn’t taste them. Couldn’t even register them.
Zayne didn’t come down. Not that I was surprised. After last night, after what I’d done—after I had rejected him—he’d completely vanished from the usual morning routines. No early stride into the dining room. No lingering gaze in my direction. Nothing. He’d chosen avoidance, and somehow, that was almost worse than if he had confronted me. The emptiness of his absence made my chest tighten, my stomach coil with all the guilt, desire, and fear I couldn’t voice aloud.
I
