Damon’s POV
Several days of rest hadn’t cleared my head. The office buzzed with life phones ringing, keyboards clattering, papers shifting but my mind was elsewhere. I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming against the polished desk, eyes skimming the spreadsheet in front of me though nothing registered. The numbers blurred, meaningless. All I saw was the photograph Marcus had sent.
Isabella. Walking through the city streets. Alone.
I replayed it until the image blurred, memorizing the tilt of her head, the sweep of her hair, even the shadow that followed her. Each detail etched itself into my memory. My chest tightened, a cocktail of obsession, unease, and the tiniest thread of fear. Someone had sent me that image. Someone wanted me to see her. But why? Was it a warning, a test, or
