The car eased to a stop at the curb, humming quietly beneath the streetlamp's glow. Isla reached for the door handle, her bag already slung over one shoulder.
"I'll walk you up," Cael said, turning off the engine.
She shot him a look. "You really don't have to."
"And miss the look on your face when you realize you still can't escape me?" His smirk was light, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes.
She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open. The entrance to her building came into view — a pair of scuffed glass doors beneath a shallow awning. Warm light spilled from inside, casting soft reflections across the sidewalk.
Cael didn't follow. Instead, he moved toward the back of the car, popped the rear door, and leaned inside.
Isla paused mid-step, glancing back just as he straightened with a large box in his hands—white, with a deep green ribbon tied in a perfect bow. Elegant, quiet luxury.
Her brow furrowed. "What's that?"
He walked toward her, box in hand. "A crime scene," he said dryly. "Evidence of how persuasive I am."
She blinked at it, unimpressed. "You're not about to hand me something illegal, are you?"
"Not unless stealing your attention counts."
Her gaze narrowed on the box like it might spring open and demand taxes. "Cael…"
He lifted it slightly towards her, in offering. A smile curving at the corners of his mouth. "Consider it a thank-you."
"For what?"
"For tolerating me. For letting me drag you to a boutique you had zero interest in. For humoring a man who talks too much and buys people dresses."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the ribbon reluctantly. "It's not what I'm thinking, right?"
His grin widened—caught. "Depends what you're thinking."
"Cael." Her voice dropped into a warning.
But he was already rounding the car again, backing toward the driver's seat like a man fleeing the scene of a well-intentioned crime.
"You can't reject a gift," he called, pulling the door open. "You'll break the poor boutique attendants' hearts. They boxed it so neatly."
"Cael—!"
"You want to repay me?" He was already sliding in. "Come to the event Saturday. I'll pick you up. Six o'clock."
She opened her mouth—but he shut the door, flashing her a ridiculous 'I-won' smile through the window.
The car pulled away with an elegant purr, leaving Isla standing there on the curb with the box in her arms and half a protest dying on her lips.
She looked down at it, baffled. When did he even…? A laugh, surprised and breathless, escaped her as she glanced down at the ribbon. "You've got to be kidding me…"
Shaking her head, she turned toward the building entrance, fingers adjusting her grip on the ribbon.
Then she froze.
Tyler stood just inside the entryway, arms crossed loosely, leaning against the wall opposite the doors. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were steady on hers.
"Hey," Isla said cautiously, stepping inside as the glass door eased shut behind her.
He pushed off the wall and moved forward, gaze dipping briefly to the box in her hands. "Who was that?"
She shifted the box in her arms. "Just… a friend. Why are you here?"
"I was on my way back from work. Thought I'd stop by." His tone was neutral, but his eyes lingered on the big box like it was burning a hole in his mind. "Was that the prince?"
Her brows shot up. "What? No. Of course not."
Tyler's jaw worked. "Then what about the guy from yesterday? That was the prince."
"Tyler—"
"Don't try to deny it." His tone was low and tight. "What exactly is going on between you and him?"
Isla's stomach twisted. "Nothing, Tyler. We don't have anything going on. I didn't even know he'd show up yesterday, okay?"
He scoffed softly, looking away as if her words stung. "And yet here you are, getting rides, gifts… standing out there laughing with him."
"I wasn't laughing—Tyler, listen to yourself. You're making this into something it's not. And I said that wasn't the prince."
"Then who was that?"
Her mouth opened slightly, still catching up. "Just someone I know."
"That someone have a name?"
Isla exhaled softly. "Cael."
He gave a slow nod, too calm. "So the guy who dropped you off just now isn't the prince."
"Yes, he isn't."
Tyler let out a laugh, seeming to be in disbelief. "Then what about this?" He pointed to the box sitting on her hands. "How do you explain this?"
"Tyler—"
"What's going on between you both then?"
"Nothing," she said, more quickly than she meant to. "Tyler, there's nothing going on. "I didn't invite him. I didn't expect the dress, or any of this. I didn't—"
"But you accepted it."
Her silence gave him his answer.
He ran a hand over his face, like he was trying to wipe away the whole conversation. "So you're just out here… what? Letting royalty drop you off, laughing, trading gifts, pretending none of it means anything?"
"I said it wasn't the prince." She murmured. "It was just a ride, Tyler. He's—he's persistent. But there's nothing between us."
He let out a breath, trying to keep steady. "Funny, because it looks like you're enjoying it."
Her expression faltered. "Excuse me?"
"The attention," he said simply. "The viral fame, the prince, the drama. First you insult him and go viral, and now you've got men handing you gifts at your doorstep. You used to be all about staying low, keeping the bakery going… Now it's interviews, surprise visits, ball gowns—"
"Stop"
"Is that what this is? You like the chaos?"
The accusation hit harder than she expected. Her mouth parted, but no words came. "That's not fair," she said finally, voice quieter than she meant.
"Isn't it?" He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "You didn't tell me. You lied about him yesterday. And now this?" He gestured sharply at the box. "What am I supposed to think, Isla?"
"You're supposed to trust me."
"I can't when you keep hiding things."
"I'm not hiding—"
"You didn't even hesitate," he cut in, eyes narrowing. "You're standing here with his gift like it's nothing."
The silence between them stretched — heavy, awkward, and louder than anything they'd said. It was only then that Isla noticed the quiet stir of the building around them.
Someone exited the elevator, giving them a curious glance as they passed. Another pair walked through the front doors, murmuring to each other as their eyes briefly flicked toward her and Tyler.
Right. They weren't alone.
Tyler noticed it too. His shoulders stiffened, then dropped.
"I'm not doing this here," he muttered, more to himself than her. His voice had lost its edge, but not its weight.
He turned without another word and walked toward the elevator at the far end. The doors were still partly open from the last person. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button — never once looking her way.
The doors closed, and just like that, he was gone.
Isla stood still, the box cradled against her chest like something she wasn't sure she wanted anymore. One hand tightened around the ribbon.
The elevator doors slid shut with a mechanical groan, and the moment vanished with him.
She didn't move — not right away.
Just watched the empty space where he'd been, surrounded by silence, fluorescent lights, and the steady thrum of everything unsaid.