FRAGILE RETURN
**ISABELLA’S POV**
One month.
Thirty-two days, to be exact, since she’d last set foot in Sinclair Enterprises. The glass doors loomed too bright, too sharp, like the edges of a world she wasn’t sure she still belonged to.
Isabella adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist—a habit now. The elevator ride was suffocating. Every ping of a floor made her pulse jump.
*You’re safe. Daniel’s dead.*
But Victoria was still gone.
The doors slid open.
**“Isabella!”**
Ryan nearly knocked over his coffee rushing toward her. His hug was too tight, his voice too loud. **“Damn, it’s good to see you. You look—**” He cut himself off, eyes flickering over her. She knew what he saw: the hollows under her eyes, the way her blazer hung loose
