ISABELLA'S POV
My heart stutters like a skipped beat as I stare at the screen, the words "Answer the phone, Bella" seared into my brain like a branding iron.
The phone's ringtone is like a taunt, a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to accept. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen like it's poised to make a decision of its own.
The message itself is cryptic, but the tone is unmistakable – a low, smooth purr that seems to vibrate through my very bones. I can almost hear his voice, the way he says my name, the gentle coaxing that makes my pulse stumble.
The ringtone grows louder, more insistent, and I know I need to make a decision. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, to pretend I'm not home, or better yet, that I'm not interested. But another part, a reckless, traitorous part, wants to answer, to hear that smooth voice again, and to know what he wants.
