BOUND TO HER LIGHT

CHAPTER 6

Morning sunlight spilled across the polished floors of Duván Manor as Isla stood in the foyer, smoothing the wrinkles out of her thrift-store blouse for the third time.

It was quieter than yesterday. No interview nerves, no storm in Gabriel Duván’s eyes weighing her down. Just the distant ticking of a clock somewhere deep in the house.

Mrs. Hills appeared, her hair as severe as ever. “You will take them after breakfast,” she said without preamble. “Keep to the schedule. Children thrive on routine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Isla murmured.

The sunroom felt warmer today, though maybe it was just the children.

Evie sat at the table, curls tumbling over her shoulders, small fingers neatly cutting her pancakes into tiny squares. Maxen sat in his high chair, face already sticky with syrup, wide eyes tracking Isla like she was some strange new planet.

“Hi,” Isla said softly.

Evie didn’t look up right away. “You came back,” she said finally, like it wasn’t guaranteed she would.

“I said I would.”

The girl gave a small, skeptical nod, then returned to her pancakes like she was still deciding what to think of Isla Barlow.

The morning passed in pieces.

Evie led Isla through the playroom, explaining the toys as if she owned the place. Maxen followed behind them, toddling on unsteady legs, occasionally plopping down with dramatic flair before getting up again.

Isla read them a story by the window while Maxen chewed on the corner of a block and Evie asked questions no storybook could answer:

“Why don’t we have a mommy?”

“Why does Daddy always work?”

Isla froze each time, words lodging in her throat.

Mrs. Hills had been clear about the rules. No personal matters. No meddling. No lines crossed.

So Isla just smiled gently and turned the page.

They spent the late morning in the garden, Evie chasing butterflies while Maxen tried to eat grass when Isla wasn’t looking.

It was the first time Isla heard laughter in this house.

Soft at first, like the sound didn’t quite know how to exist here. But real.

And for a moment, the walls of Duván Manor didn’t feel so heavy.

Gabriel didn’t appear until the children were napping.

Isla felt him before she saw him the air tightening, footsteps deliberate in the hallway.

“Mrs. Hills says the morning went… smoothly.”

His voice was low, rough as ever.

Isla stood quickly. “Yes, sir.”

He glanced toward the playroom where Evie slept curled against a stuffed rabbit, Maxen drooling on his blanket.

Then his eyes cut back to Isla.

“Keep it that way,” he said, and was gone before she could reply.

The afternoon was quiet.

But the weight of his presence lingered long after he left.