The rain had not stopped for two days. It came in soft sheets that soaked the gardens and turned the gravel paths into rivers of silver. The villa seemed quieter under the downpour, as though the storm outside had muted the chaos within. Yet, inside, a different kind of storm lingered—one that could not be washed away by rain.
Isla sat by the window in her room, watching droplets trail down the glass. Each sound of thunder rolled like a memory of what had been said that night in the study. Dante's words still echoed in her mind. If you ever leave, I will not chase you again.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that maybe, after everything, he had finally understood that love was not a cage. But the thought of trusting him again felt like walking barefoot over broken glass. Every time she tried to take a step toward peace, the sharp edges of their past cut too deep.
