The sheets beside her were cold.

Isa stirred slowly, her lashes heavy against her pale cheeks as she sat up in the bed she shared with her husband. For a moment, her mind was blank—foggy with the weight of another sleepless night. Then the silence struck her. It was wrong. Too quiet. No heavy footsteps, no distant slam of doors, no low voice commanding the house staff in the hallway.

Her chest tightened.

Isa slid her bare feet onto the cold marble floor, the hem of her silk nightgown trailing behind her as she moved carefully to the window. The mansion grounds lay still beneath the early light—guards in place, the gates locked. But he was gone. For the first time in months, the air didn’t feel suffocating.

Her fingers trembled as they clutched the window frame. A thought flickered across her mind—fragile, dangerous, almost unreal: What if I left?

But just as quickly, dread twisted in her stomach. He could be watching. Testing her. Waiting to see if she would dare. She pressed her forehead against the glass, eyes stinging. Alone. Free for a moment, yet still imprisoned in a house that wasn’t hers. The silence was louder than his voice.

Her breath fogged the glass as she lingered at the window, heart pounding in her chest. If he is gone… truly gone… Isa turned, bare feet whispering against the floor, her steps hesitant, almost guilty.

The mansion loomed around her, vast and silent, every shadow holding his presence even when he wasn’t there. She moved carefully into the hallway, fingers trailing along the wall like she needed proof the world around her was real.

For the first time, she pushed open the study door. His study. The one she was forbidden to enter.

The scent of him clung to the air—cologne, smoke, leather. Isa froze in the doorway, her lips parting as though she might speak, but no sound came. Her hands shook when she reached for his desk, touching the cool wood like it might burn her. She whispered under her breath, in Italian, words she hadn’t dared in months.

“Sei davvero andato…? Or are you watching me?”

Her voice cracked. On the desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey stood beside scattered papers. She didn’t dare read them, didn’t dare move anything. Instead, Isa slid into the leather chair, curling up like a child trespassing in a monster’s den. Her hands clutched the armrests, knuckles white. It should have felt like freedom. But all she felt was dread.

Because if he came back and found her here…