It had been days since the tension between Dante and Isla hit its peak. The atmosphere in the mansion remained charged, but something in Dante’s demeanor had shifted. He was softer, less guarded. Isla noticed it in the way he lingered in the dining room when Amara played, how his gaze would follow her, and how he seemed to hesitate before speaking to her.
But Isla wasn’t sure what to make of it. Part of her wanted to believe he was changing, that there was a shred of the man she once imagined he could be. Yet the other part of her clung to the bitterness and resentment that had built a fortress around her heart.
Isla was sitting in the garden that evening, a rare moment of peace while Amara napped. The twilight bathed the space in hues of orange and pink, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. She closed her eyes, letting the stillness wash over her.
When she opened them, Dante was standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“You like it out here,” he observed, his voice low and almost uncertain.
Isla tensed, her guard instantly rising. “It’s the only place in this house that doesn’t feel like a prison.”
Dante sighed, stepping closer. “I deserve that.”
She turned her face away, unwilling to engage in another argument. But instead of pressing her, Dante surprised her by sitting on the bench beside her, keeping a respectful distance.
For a few moments, they sat in silence, the chirping of crickets filling the air. Finally, Dante spoke, his tone softer than she had ever heard.
“I know I’ve done things that you can’t forgive, Isla. And I don’t expect you to. But I want to try.”
She frowned, glancing at him. “Try what? Controlling me less? Locking me in a bigger room?”
Dante shook his head, a faint, rueful smile on his lips. “No. I want to try being the man you and Amara deserve.”
Later that evening, a maid knocked on Isla’s door. “Ma’am, Mr. Dante has requested your presence for dinner in the main dining room.”
Isla’s first instinct was to refuse. But the maid added, “He said it’s important, for Amara too.”
Her resolve wavered. If this was about Amara, she couldn’t ignore it. With a sigh, she dressed in a simple blue dress and tied her hair back. She wasn’t doing it for him, she told herself-she was doing it for her daughter.
When she arrived, the dining room was transformed. The long table was set with candles and fresh flowers, and soft music played in the background. Dante stood at the head of the table, holding Amara, who was giggling and reaching for him.
Isla froze in the doorway, suspicion flaring. “What is this?”
Dante turned, his face lighting up when he saw her. “It’s dinner. For us. For Amara.”
She hesitated before stepping inside, her gaze flicking between him and the elaborate setup. “Why?”
Dante handed Amara to the nanny, who took her to her high chair. He stepped closer to Isla, his hands at his sides, as though resisting the urge to touch her.
“Because I want us to try,” he said simply. “No games, no control. Just us.”
To her surprise, dinner was pleasant. Dante didn’t push her or demand anything. Instead, he focused on Amara, making her laugh with silly faces and feeding her mashed potatoes. Isla couldn’t help but smile at the sight, her heart softening despite herself.
At one point, Amara reached out for Isla, and Dante passed her over. Their hands brushed, and Isla felt a jolt, as though the connection between them was still alive, buried under layers of hurt and mistrust.
“She adores you,” Dante said quietly, watching as Amara snuggled against Isla’s chest.
“She’s my whole world,” Isla replied, her voice firm but laced with emotion.
Dante’s gaze lingered on her, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “She’s mine too.”
For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Isla saw something she hadn’t in a long time-regret.
After dinner, Dante surprised her again by suggesting a walk in the garden. Isla was hesitant but agreed, mainly because Amara had fallen asleep, and she didn’t want to return to the confines of her room just yet.
The garden was bathed in moonlight, the soft glow casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. They walked in silence at first, the tension between them easing with every step.
Finally, Dante spoke. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
Isla glanced at him, surprised. “Of course. How could I forget?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You were furious with me. I think you called me insufferable within five minutes.”
She couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Well, you were.”
“I probably still am,” he admitted, his tone self-deprecating. “But back then, you didn’t care about my world or my rules. You just… challenged me.”
Isla stopped walking, turning to face him. “And look where that got me.”
Dante’s expression grew serious. “I know I’ve hurt you, Isla. More than I ever meant to. But I’m trying to change that. I’m trying to be better for you. For her.”
She looked away, her heart warring with itself. “Words mean nothing, Dante. Actions do.”
For a fleeting moment, Isla felt a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Dante was sincere. But as they reentered the mansion, that hope shattered.
A woman stood in the foyer, her striking beauty undeniable. She was draped in an elegant black dress, her crimson lips curling into a smirk when she saw Dante.
“Dante,” she purred, stepping forward. “I didn’t think you’d keep me waiting this long.”
Isla froze, her stomach twisting into knots. She glanced at Dante, whose expression had gone cold and unreadable.
“Valentina,” he said curtly. “What are you doing here?”
Valentina ignored his tone, her gaze sliding to Isla. “And who’s this? Your little… project?”
The venom in her words was unmistakable, and Isla felt as though the ground had been pulled from under her.
Dante stepped between them, his voice sharp. “This is none of your business. Leave.”
Valentina’s laughter rang out, mocking and cruel. “Oh, Dante. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Isla didn’t wait to hear more. She turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding with betrayal and anger.
Back in her room, Isla paced furiously, her mind racing. She had let her guard down, even for a moment, and this was the result. How could she have been so foolish?
A knock at the door made her pause. She ignored it, but Dante’s voice came through.
“Isla, open the door.”
“Go away!” she shouted, her voice breaking.
There was silence before he replied, his tone softer. “Let me explain.”
She yanked the door open, glaring at him. “Explain what? That you have women like her showing up here whenever they want? That I was stupid enough to think you could change?”
Dante stepped inside, his expression pleading. “Valentina means nothing. She’s part of my past-she doesn’t matter.”
Isla laughed bitterly, tears streaming down her face. “She seemed to think she mattered. And honestly, why wouldn’t she? You treat me like a prisoner, Dante. I’m nothing but a convenience to you.”
“That’s not true,” he said firmly, reaching for her.
She stepped back, her voice trembling. “Stay away from me. From now on, you stay away from me.”
Dante’s face hardened, but he didn’t argue. He left without another word, the door closing heavily behind him.
As Isla sank onto the bed, tears streaming down her face, she made a silent vow. She would never let herself believe in him again.