"I'll help you."
That was the first thing Cyrus said as Isabella's gaze landed on him.
His voice, as always, was warm. Unshaken.
Gentle, like the sound of rainfall in early spring.
He was standing just behind her now, calm and poised as ever, like he hadn't just walked through an emotional minefield before coming here. His soft pink eyes held a tenderness that made Isabella feel instantly guilty for being in a bad mood.
But she didn't get the chance to respond.
"She's coming with me."
Kian's voice cut cleanly through the moment, like a blade slicing silk.
It wasn't just what he said—it was how he said it.
Sharp. Cold. Final.
His gaze was pinned directly on Cyrus, not Isabella. There was a flicker in his blue eyes—not exactly annoyance, but something more restrained. Something… colder.
Isabella stiffened slightly.
She could already feel it.
That weird air between them again.
