Isabella's Point of View
The restaurant smelled of roasted garlic and red wine, but the scent barely reached me. My stomach was tight, my fingers cold as I rested them against the linen napkin on my lap.
Kyle was here.
Her presence slithered through the room like a whisper of smoke, curling around my throat, making it hard to breathe. She wasn't here for dinner. She was here for me.
I picked up my glass, the cool water pressing against my lips as I took a slow sip. My hand was steady, but inside, my nerves buzzed.
George reached for my hand across the table, his warmth grounding me. "You're quiet tonight."
I forced a small smile. "Just tired."
He studied me for a moment, his thumb brushing circles over my knuckles. "If something's wrong, you can tell me."
I wanted to. I wanted to say that Kyle had threatened me, that she wasn't done with me yet. That she wouldn't stop until she had taken everything from me. But the words tangled in my throat.
