The next morning, the Knight mansion was eerily quiet. Isla had spent most of the night in her room, cradling Amara, whispering soothing words to her baby girl as her own heart ached. The confrontation with Dante had drained her, but it also solidified her resolve. She couldn’t continue living this way.
Amara stirred in her arms, her tiny fingers curling around Isla’s. The innocent touch brought fresh tears to her eyes.
“We deserve better, Amara,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll find a way to give you the life you deserve, far away from all of this.”
—
Dante’s Restlessness
Downstairs, Dante paced his study, his expression dark and brooding. He hadn’t slept all night, Isla’s words haunting him.
Marco entered, holding a cup of coffee. “You look like hell,” he remarked, placing the cup on the desk.
Dante shot him a glare. “Not in the mood for your commentary, Marco.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “You can’t keep pretending everything’s fine, Dante. Isla’s reached her breaking point.”
Dante exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Start by listening to her,” Marco suggested. “Really listening. She’s been telling you what she needs, but you’ve been too stubborn to hear it.”
Dante clenched his jaw, the truth of Marco’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut.
—
Isla’s Quiet Escape Plan
Upstairs, Isla was making quiet preparations. She knew she couldn’t leave immediately; Dante had eyes everywhere. But she could start planning.
She opened the small drawer by her bedside table, pulling out an old notebook. Inside were scribbled notes, ideas she’d jotted down during sleepless nights. Places she could go, people she could contact for help.
Her hand hovered over the name of an old friend, someone she hadn’t spoken to in years. Could she trust them? Did she even have a choice?
Amara gurgled softly, breaking Isla’s train of thought.
“Mama’s working on it, sweetheart,” she said, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “We’ll be okay.”
—
A Tense Breakfast
By the time Isla ventured downstairs, it was mid-morning. Dante was at the dining table, his eyes fixed on his phone. Marco stood nearby, speaking in hushed tones to one of the house staff.
The moment Dante saw Isla, he straightened, his gaze softening slightly.
“Good morning,” he said, his tone careful.
Isla nodded curtly, taking a seat as one of the maids brought her a cup of tea.
“How’s Amara?” Dante asked, breaking the silence.
“She’s fine,” Isla replied, not looking at him. “She always is.”
Her words stung, but Dante didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for his coffee, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “We need to talk, Isla.”
She looked up, her eyes cold. “Do we?”
Dante’s patience was wearing thin, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Yes. About last night. About us.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Dante,” Isla said sharply. “There’s you, your empire, your parties, and your control. Amara and I? We’re just accessories in your life.”
His grip on the coffee cup tightened. “That’s not fair, Isla.”
“Fair?” she echoed, her voice rising. “Do you even know what fair is? Because it’s certainly not locking me away while you parade around like nothing’s wrong!”
Marco shifted uncomfortably in the background, but Dante held up a hand, silencing him.
“I’ve made mistakes,” Dante admitted, his voice low. “But I’m trying to protect you and Amara.”
Isla laughed bitterly. “Protect us? From what, Dante? The outside world? Or from you?”
The words hung in the air, cutting through the fragile calm. Dante’s face darkened, but he didn’t argue.
—
Marco’s Intervention
After Isla stormed out of the dining room, Marco approached Dante cautiously.
“You’re losing her,” Marco said bluntly.
Dante glared at him. “I don’t need you to remind me.”
“Then do something about it,” Marco urged. “Stop trying to control her and start showing her that you care.”
Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple, Marco. You know what’s at stake.”
“What’s at stake is your family,” Marco shot back. “And if you don’t change, you’re going to lose them for good.”
—
A Glimmer of Hope
Later that evening, Dante stood outside Isla’s bedroom door, hesitant. He had spent the day replaying Marco’s words, grappling with his own guilt and frustration.
He knocked softly.
“Isla?” he called.
There was no response, but he pushed the door open anyway. Isla was sitting by the window, rocking Amara in her arms.
“What do you want, Dante?” she asked without looking at him.
He stepped inside, his hands in his pockets. “I want to talk.”
“We’ve done enough talking,” she said tiredly. “Nothing changes.”
He took a deep breath. “I know I’ve hurt you, Isla. And I know I’ve been a terrible husband, a terrible father. But I want to make things right.”
She turned to face him, her eyes filled with skepticism. “You don’t even know what ‘right’ looks like, Dante.”
He took a step closer. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”
Her lips trembled, but she shook her head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve already made my decision.”
Dante’s heart sank. “What decision?”
Isla hesitated, then said quietly, “To leave. For good.”
—
The Ultimatum
Dante’s expression hardened. “You’re not taking Amara away from me, Isla.”
“You’ve already taken her from me,” she shot back. “Every time you’ve ignored us, every time you’ve put your empire above your family. I won’t let her grow up in this toxic environment.”
“And where will you go?” he demanded. “You think you can hide from me?”
Isla stood, holding Amara protectively. “I shouldn’t have to hide, Dante. But if that’s what it takes to give my daughter a better life, I will.”
His jaw clenched, his frustration boiling over. “You’re being unreasonable, Isla.”
“No, Dante,” she said firmly. “I’m being a mother.”
The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. For the first time, Dante realized just how far he had pushed her-and how close he was to losing her completely.
As Isla turned away, rocking Amara gently, Dante stood frozen, grappling with the painful truth. If he wanted to keep his family, he would have to fight for them-not with power and control, but with love and understanding.
And he wasn’t sure if he knew how.