The mirror gave nothing back but the truth she wasn't ready to face. Isla smoothed her palms down the gown one last time, exhaling slowly as if that could settle the tangle in her chest. It wasn't the dress Cael had sent—she couldn't bring herself to wear that—but something simpler, something she and Callie had picked out last minute.
Soft midnight-blue chiffon skimmed her knees, layered just enough to move when she walked. The neckline dipped modestly, framed by delicate straps, and a slim belt cinched at her waist with a pearl clasp. Elegant, but not loud.
Her hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, brushed until it gleamed under the soft yellow lamp. A whisper of lip color, nothing more. She wanted to look… enough. Not too much. Not too little. Just Isla, trying to hold her life together at the seams.
The quiet broke with a voice behind her.
"Pretty fancy for a small event."
Her stomach tightened. Isla met his gaze in the mirror before turning. Tyler leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes tracking the gown in a way that felt like both praise and judgment.
She forced a small smile. "It's not that fancy. Trust me—if I wore the other dress, you'd have called security."
His brows lifted slightly, a humorless tug at his mouth. "The one your royal admirer sent?"
The words landed heavier than the silk at her hem. Isla held his gaze, pulse steadying with effort. "The one I'm returning tonight," she said softly.
That pulled a reaction—his jaw eased, just a fraction. Silence stretched between them, not sharp like last time, but fragile. Like glass balanced on its edge.
Something in his face faltered. His reply didn't come fast—not like before. Instead, the sharpness he'd carried seemed to drain, leaving behind something quieter. He leaned on the doorframe, jaw working as if chewing on words he didn't like the taste of.
"I guess that makes me an idiot," he said finally, voice low. "Jumping to every wrong conclusion." His hand raked through his hair, slower this time. "I shouldn't have said half the things I did."
Her grip on the dresser eased.
"Everything's been changing so fast, and I thought maybe you were, too. Thought maybe…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I was… scared. Scared of losing you." He admitted. "Every time I opened my phone, there you were—memes, edits, strangers calling you their favorite. And then someone shows up with… a gift. And I'm standing there wondering if I even fit in your life anymore."
"Tyler…" She crossed the space between them, her skirt whispering over the floor. "You do. That hasn't changed."
His gaze dropped to her hands as they caught his, fingers warm and steady.
"I'm bringing you tonight to prove that," she said softly. "Not because I owe anyone anything—but because you're part of this with me. Even when it's messy. Even when I can't control what happens."
For a beat, he didn't move. Then his shoulders sank, like someone had finally let the air out of a balloon he'd been holding too long. "I don't deserve that after the way I acted."
"You deserve the truth," she countered. "And that's it—I didn't choose any of this. I'm just… trying to handle it."
Tyler searched her face for a long moment, then let out a breath that sounded more like surrender than defeat. "You make it hard to stay mad, you know that?"
A faint smile curved her lips. "Good. I'd hate to go out there with you scowling in every photo."
That earned a low laugh, the kind that loosened something tight between them. For the first time since the fight, it felt like the ground under their feet wasn't cracking.
The evening air wrapped cool fingers around Isla's skin when they stepped outside, carrying the hum of traffic and distant laughter. Cael's car sat at the curb like something out of a magazine—sleek, black, gleaming under the streetlights. And there he was, standing beside it.
He wasn't in royal regalia—thank God—but the lie about a "small event" was written in every stitch of his suit. Deep charcoal, cut so sharp it looked like it could draw blood, with a vest that hinted at formality without drowning in it. The crisp white shirt beneath was undone at the throat, no tie, because of course he didn't need one. Polished black shoes caught the glow of the streetlights, and a glint of silver at his wrist—just a watch, but one that probably cost more than her rent for a year.
His face lit when he saw her—then dimmed the moment his gaze dropped to the midnight-blue instead of ivory. The flicker was small, but Isla caught it anyway.
"Not what you expected?" she asked lightly as they stopped in front of him.
Cael's eyes flicked to Tyler then back to her. "Not what I sent," he said, his voice smooth but quieter than usual.
Before the air could thicken, Isla stepped aside, a hand brushing Tyler's arm as if to anchor herself. "Cael—this is Tyler. My boyfriend."
That word—boyfriend—hung like a barrier in the space between them. Cael blinked, the surprise sharp but fleeting before his mouth curved into something warm, practiced.
"Tyler." He extended a hand with effortless charm. "Good to meet you."
Tyler shifted the box to one arm and shook it, grip firm. "Same." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Isla's pulse thudded as she continued, "I hope it's okay that he's coming along. I… didn't have a way to reach you, so I figured I'd tell you now."
"Of course." Cael's tone was smooth, but there was a weight behind it. "The more, the merrier."
The box drew his gaze next, and Isla felt heat creep up her neck. "I'm sorry about this," she said quickly. "The dress—it's beautiful, but I can't accept it."
Before Cael could answer, Tyler's voice cut in, even and firm. "Yeah. I'd appreciate it if you didn't hand my girlfriend gifts like this."
The air snapped tight. Not loud, not aggressive, but enough to charge the space between the three of them. Cael's brows lifted slightly, like he wasn't used to being told no—least of all like that. But then he smiled, slow and easy, like water smoothing over stone.
"Noted," he said. And for some reason, that single word felt heavier than an argument. He took the box with a grip that was almost careless. Then, with the same calm ease, he opened the car door for Isla. "Shall we?"
"Isla." Tyler's voice broke in, low but steady. She turned to see him a step behind, keys glinting in his hand. "We can go in my car."
For a second, the air tightened between all three of them. Isla's gaze flicked to Cael—still by the open door, unreadable—then back to Tyler. Cael had driven here for her, stayed through the awkward quiet, and now… this.
"Tyler…" She softened her tone, fingers brushing his arm. "He came all the way out here. Maybe it's better if—"
He cut her off, not sharp, just firm. "It's fine," he said, a faint curve at his mouth that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You ride with him. I'll follow behind. Safer that way, anyway." The keys spun once in his fingers before he turned, heading toward where he'd parked.
Isla's stomach knotted. He sounded calm—understanding, even—but something about the way his shoulders stayed tight made her chest pinch. And behind her, Cael still waited in silence, the door open like an invitation she suddenly wished didn't feel so heavy.