The morning sun poured through the tall windows of the mansion, casting a warm glow over the dining room where Isla and Amara were seated. The little girl was happily munching on her toast, her tiny hands smudged with jam, while Isla sipped her coffee, lost in thought. Despite the serenity of the moment, Isla couldn’t shake off the lingering unease that had taken root ever since Dante’s father had reentered their lives.
Dante had left the house early, leaving behind only a curt note on the counter: “Business meeting. Will be back late. Take care of Amara.” Isla frowned at the words, feeling the distance creeping between them again.
“Mommy, can we go outside today?” Amara asked, snapping Isla out of her thoughts.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Isla said with a smile. “How about we visit the garden? We can pick some flowers and make a bouquet for Daddy.”
Amara beamed. “Daddy loves flowers! Let’s make the prettiest one!”
—
The garden was a riot of colors, with blooming roses, tulips, and daisies swaying gently in the breeze. Amara skipped ahead, her laughter echoing in the open air as she darted between the flower beds. Isla watched her daughter with a fond smile, momentarily forgetting her worries.
But her peace was short-lived. As she crouched to pick a rose, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a text from an unknown number.
“You don’t know who you’re trusting. Be careful. He’s not what he seems.”
Her blood ran cold as she read the message. Who could this be? And who were they talking about? Isla’s first thought was of Vincent, whose recent behavior had been increasingly suspicious. Could this be a warning about him? Or was it about Dante’s father, whose presence had unsettled her from the start?
“Mommy, look!” Amara’s excited voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. Isla quickly locked her phone and turned to her daughter, who was holding a small bundle of flowers.
“They’re beautiful, Amara,” Isla said, forcing a smile.
“Do you think Daddy will like them?” Amara asked, her wide eyes filled with hope.
“He’ll love them,” Isla assured her, scooping her daughter into her arms.
—
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, though Isla couldn’t shake off the ominous feeling from the text. By evening, she was pacing the living room, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Dante hadn’t returned, and her attempts to reach him had gone unanswered.
“Where’s Daddy?” Amara asked, her voice tinged with worry as she clutched her stuffed bunny.
“He’ll be home soon,” Isla said, trying to sound confident. “Why don’t we read a story while we wait?”
Amara nodded, but her little face remained troubled. Isla pulled her onto the couch and opened one of her favorite books, but her own mind was far from the story.
It was well past midnight when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway finally reached Isla’s ears. She gently carried Amara, who had fallen asleep on the couch, to her bed before heading to the front door.
Dante entered, his tie loosened and his face etched with exhaustion. Isla felt a mix of relief and frustration bubble up inside her.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Amara.
“Work,” he said simply, brushing past her.
“Don’t give me that,” Isla said, following him into the living room. “You’ve been distant and secretive ever since your father showed up. What’s going on, Dante?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated, Isla. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” she shot back, her arms crossed. “I’m your wife, Dante. If something’s wrong, I have a right to know.”
He turned to face her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s better if you don’t. Trust me on this.”
Isla’s heart sank. She hated the wall he was putting up between them, but she could see he wasn’t going to budge tonight.
“Fine,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment. “But you can’t keep shutting me out, Dante. Whatever it is, it affects all of us-me and Amara included.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the dimly lit room.
—
The next morning, Isla woke up to the sound of raised voices coming from Dante’s office. She crept closer, her heart pounding as she recognized Vincent’s voice.
“You can’t control me, Dante,” Vincent was saying, his tone icy. “You might have power now, but you’ll regret underestimating me.”
“You’re forgetting your place, Vincent,” Dante replied, his voice sharp and commanding. “This is my family, my business. Don’t test me.”
Isla pressed a hand to her mouth, her mind racing. What was Vincent plotting? She had a sinking feeling that the text she had received was connected to him.
Before she could hear more, the door to the office swung open, and Vincent stepped out, his expression as smooth as ever. He gave Isla a polite nod before striding down the hall.
Dante emerged moments later, his face a mask of frustration. He stopped when he saw Isla, his gaze softening slightly.
“How much did you hear?” he asked.
“Enough to know that Vincent is up to something,” she said. “Dante, please, let me help you.”
He hesitated before taking her hands in his. “I appreciate your concern, Isla. But this is something I have to handle on my own. I promise you, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you and Amara.”
His words were meant to reassure her, but they only deepened her unease. She nodded, though her mind was already racing with plans.
—
That evening, as they sat down for dinner, Amara’s innocent chatter brought a brief moment of levity to the tense atmosphere.
“Daddy, can I have a baby brother?” she asked suddenly, her big eyes shining with excitement.
Dante choked on his wine, while Isla froze, her cheeks turning bright red.
“Amara!” Isla exclaimed, unable to suppress a laugh.
“What?” Amara said, looking genuinely confused. “I want someone to play with! Bunny is fun, but a brother would be better.”
Dante chuckled, setting down his glass. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”
“You promise?” Amara pressed, her tiny hands clasped together.
“Let’s focus on finishing dinner first,” Isla said quickly, shooting Dante a look.
Amara giggled, clearly pleased with herself, and the momentary lightness in the room helped ease some of Isla’s worries.
—
Later that night, as Isla tucked Amara into bed, her daughter looked up at her with a thoughtful expression.
“Mommy, do you think Daddy is okay?” Amara asked softly.
Isla’s heart ached at her daughter’s perceptiveness. “Why do you ask, baby?”
“Because he looks sad sometimes,” Amara said. “I think we should give him more flowers.”
Isla smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Amara’s face. “That’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart. Daddy would love that.”
As Amara drifted off to sleep, Isla made a silent promise to herself: she would find a way to uncover the truth about Vincent’s plans and protect her family, no matter what it took.