ISABELLA
Adrian and I shared breakfast together — something that still felt new, rare, and precious. He left first, kissing the top of my head before heading out for a business meeting. He promised he’d be home early tonight.
I held onto that promise more than I wanted to admit.
After clearing the dishes, I went upstairs to get ready for work — my first day back at the museum in almost a week.
I opened my wardrobe and paused.
I didn’t want to look like the old Isabella — the quiet, invisible museum girl who blended into the background. Not anymore. Not when the world saw me as Mrs. Salvatore.
So I chose something that felt like both versions of me.
A fitted black turtleneck tucked into a high‑waisted cream pencil skirt that hugged my waist and fell just below my knees. A soft wool c
