Morning came far too soon.
The light spilling through the blinds was too bright for someone who'd only just convinced herself to sleep, and Isla lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an excuse to stay in bed. Her body felt heavy, not from the lack of rest exactly, but from the kind of night that lingered in the muscles — the kind that wrapped around her chest and didn't let go.
She turned her head. The box was still there on the dresser, exactly where she'd set it after Tyler left. Untouched. It sat like it had been waiting all night for her to do something with it — open it, throw it out, shove it under the bed. Instead, she'd done nothing, and now it felt like it was staring back at her.
Her phone was on the nightstand. She reached for it, thumb hovering over Tyler's name.
What would I even say? Sorry for the life I didn't ask for? Sorry the world keeps barging in uninvited? Sorry for... all of it?
She locked the screen and set it face-down.
Eventually, she rolled out of bed, dragging herself through the motions — teeth, coffee, hair pulled into a loose knot that already felt like it might give up before noon. The box stayed on the dresser, a quiet bystander, watching her pull on a sweater and slip her feet into shoes. She paused once at the doorway, not because she meant to do anything about it, but because leaving it there felt like leaving a conversation unfinished.
Then she turned away and stepped into the cool morning air.
By the time she tied her apron, the ovens were already warming the bakery, their heat slowly chasing away the morning chill.
She busied herself with mixing dough, shaping loaves, lining trays — anything that kept her hands moving so her thoughts couldn't linger too long in one place.
The morning rush had barely started when Mrs. Albury swept in, brisk as ever, her handbag clutched tight and her phone already in her other hand.
"Morning, love," she said, barely glancing up as she made a beeline for the counter. She lowered her voice like she was about to leak state secrets. "You've been busy, haven't you?"
Isla's brows pulled together. "Busy?"
Mrs. Albury's grin was the kind that said she'd been dying to get here just to say this. She turned the phone around with a little flourish. "Well, the internet thinks so."
The screen lit up with a grainy but unmistakable photo — Isla, standing outside her building in last night's clothes, the gift box in her hands, and Cael leaning casually beside his car.
Isla's stomach dipped. "You're joking," she said before her mouth twisted into a dry smile. "Oh, perfect. Just when I thought the internet had finally found someone else to ruin breakfast over."
She scrolled through the post. Someone had slapped the caption 'Late-night royal drop-off? 👀' across the top. Another account had gone with 'Mystery suitor delivers surprise — baker's lucky night?'
And of course, the comments were worse:
"That's Prince Dorian's cousin, right? Wonder if the Prince knows 👀"
"Plot twist: she's secretly dating both of them"
"Calling it now: Hallmark movie in real life"
"She's glowing. That's not just oven heat."
Cousin? Isla frowned at that one, skimming back up to Cael's face in the grainy picture. He hadn't mentioned anything about being related to Dorian.
"Seriously?" she muttered under her breath. "This is what you people do before coffee?"
Mrs. Albury gave her a sympathetic shrug. "It's harmless, dear. Well... mostly harmless. But you know how people get." She lowered her voice. "And this one's spreading fast."
The words sat uncomfortably. Harmless, maybe, to strangers. But to Tyler? She could already imagine the way he'd see it.
She tried to laugh it off, tossing the phone back to Mrs. Albury with a "Guess I should start charging for the publicity." But the humor didn't land — not even with herself.
Because the truth was, this was exactly the kind of "shiny" thing Tyler had been talking about last night. The kind of moment that made it look like she belonged somewhere else, somewhere without him.
Her mind replayed his words whether she wanted it to or not: You say you hate the attention, but it's the attention pulling you away from me.
And just like that, the fight came rushing back. The quiet rustle of his jacket as he walked out. The sound of the door clicking shut. The space he'd left behind — too big for her little apartment, too loud in its silence.
She swallowed hard and went back to dusting flour across the counter.
Has he seen it yet?
Of course he has. This city's internet moves faster than a boiling kettle, and Tyler wasn't exactly unplugged from the world. By now, it was probably sitting in his feed, complete with comments from people who didn't know a thing about her but thought they'd nailed her whole life story.
She pulled her phone from her apron pocket and opened a message to him.
It's not what it looks like.
It's just Cael.
Please don't—
She deleted it.
It wouldn't matter. He'd read whatever she sent through the lens of that headline, not her words.
The bell over the bakery door jingled again, and two younger customers came in, giggling behind their hands. One of them had her phone out, the screen angled just enough for Isla to catch a flash of that grainy photo.
"...he's cute, whoever he is," one whispered, and the other snorted.
"Yeah — and she's definitely into him."
Perfect.
She smiled mechanically, as they approached the counter. "Morning. What can I get you?"
They ordered muffins between glances at each other — and at her — their amusement barely contained. The girl with the phone tapped at the screen, not-so-subtly showing her friend something else, and both tried to smother their laughter.
She slid their order across the counter a little too neatly, her voice even. "Enjoy your day."
They left, still whispering, the door shutting on another peal of muffled giggles.
Once they left, she ducked into the back room, under the pretense of checking inventory, when all she really wanted was a door between herself and the noise.
The low hum of the fridge filled the back room. She leaned against the wall, phone in hand again, staring at Tyler's chat — the blank text box waiting for words she couldn't bring herself to type.
The screen lit with another notification — a fresh post from a gossip account: "Late-night visitors, early-morning chemistry? Our favorite royal mystery deepens... 👑☕" Another caption. Another little slice of the story she hadn't agreed to tell. The buzz felt like an alarm she couldn't shut off.
Isla slipped the phone back into her pocket. She went to wash her hands, tied her apron tighter, and walked back out front.
The unsettled feeling didn't leave. It sat with her, heavier than the flour dust on her apron, stubborn as the box still waiting on her dresser at home.