Morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the unfamiliar room. Isabella's head throbbed, her mouth dry, her body aching in places that didn't quite make sense. A dull sense of wrongness pulsed through her as she stirred beneath the covers.
Her hand brushed something warm. She turned her head and froze.
Karl.
Lying beside her.
Sleeping.
Shirtless.
Her stomach dropped. For a second, she couldn't breathe. Her eyes trailed down the length of his chest, over his bare torso, to the tousled sheets twisted around their legs. Her own skin was bare beneath the covers. Her mind reeled.
This wasn't real.
This had to be a nightmare.
But the clothes scattered on the floor... the faint scent of cologne and alcohol... his arm still resting where it had clearly held her close through the night... it was all too real.
A scream tore from her throat before she could stop it.
Karl jerked awake, eyes wild. "What the hell?"
Isabella bolted upright, yanking the blanket around her body as if it could erase what had happened. "No. No. No. Tell me this didn't happen."
Karl blinked, still dazed, but the moment his eyes landed on her, everything clicked. His gaze swept the room–the clothes, the bed, her expression-and he cursed under his breath.
"Shit."
Isabella backed away until her spine hit the headboard. Her voice cracked with horror. "What did we do?"
Karl sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbing both hands over his face. "You came in during the night. I didn't know it was you... You didn't say much."
Her brows knit in disbelief. "I thought this was a guest room. I just wanted to get away from Marco."
Karl stood and reached for his jeans, tugging them on with tense movements. "I didn't even realize... you didn't say your name."
"And you didn't recognize me?" she snapped.
He flinched. "You kept your face turned. You didn't... I just didn't expect..." He cut himself off, jaw tightening. "If I had known it was you, Isabella, I wouldn't have let you in."
She wrapped the blanket tighter, her eyes burning. "So what? This is my fault now?"
"I'm not saying that."
"You're making it sound like it."
He turned to her, his voice low. "We were drunk. Both of us. You could barely stand when you came in."
Isabella blinked rapidly, trying to stop the memories that now trickled back, his warmth, his touch, the way her skin had come alive under him. Her cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment but from shame.
This couldn't have happened.
She wouldn't let herself believe it.
"What the hell do we do now?" she whispered.
Karl crossed his arms, staring at the floor. "We forget it."
"Forget it?" Her voice wavered.
"Yes. No one can know. Especially not Vance."
The name hit her like a slap. Her heart thudded in her chest. "If he finds out..."
"He'll kill you," Karl said, eyes shadowed. "And probably me too."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this."
"I know," he said quietly. "Neither did I."
A silence stretched between them. Thick. Suffocating. The kind that made the walls feel like they were closing in.
Isabella stood on shaky legs, the blanket dragging behind her like a wounded flag. "This was a mistake."
Karl's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Yeah. A mistake."
Even as the word hung in the air, neither of them seemed to believe it.
Isabella moved toward her dress, scooping it up in trembling fingers. "Don't look."
He turned his back, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the wall.
She dressed quickly, her skin crawling. Every brush of fabric was a painful reminder of the night before, a night she barely remembered yet couldn't forget.
Once dressed, she looked at him. "What if someone saw me come in?"
"They didn't," he said. "Take the back stairs through the laundry hall. You won't run into anyone."
She hesitated at the door. "You really think we can just pretend it didn't happen?"
He didn't look at her. "We have to."
Her hand gripped the doorknob, but she didn't turn it right away. Something in her wanted to ask... what if it wasn't a mistake? What if part of her wanted it, even if she didn't admit it out loud? But that question was dangerous. Too dangerous.
And they weren't close. They weren't even friends.
He was her captor's brother.
She was Vance's possession.
No space existed for feelings. Not in this world.
So she swallowed it all down, like she'd done a thousand times before, and opened the door.
"Goodbye, Karl," she said softly.
He turned just enough for her to see the conflict flash across his face.
"Goodbye, Isabella."
Then she stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
Silence settled in the room like dust.
Karl remained standing for a long time, eyes fixed on the door. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back down on the edge of the bed. The sheets still held her scent. His hands still remembered her skin.
It had been a mistake.
That was the safest lie.
But deep in his chest, something ached. And that ache didn't feel like a mistake at all.