Chapter 2 Two

Isla didn't realize she was holding her breath until she stepped out into the night. The cold air hit her skin like a slap, forcing her back to reality.

Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked toward her car, her mind racing, her heart still beating in an erratic rhythm. She could still feel Damian's touch-his hands on her waist, his lips tracing her skin, the heat of his body pressing into hers.

It should have been enough.

She should have been satisfied, having finally surrendered to the temptation that had haunted her for years. But the moment she had walked out of that penthouse, an emptiness had settled in her chest.

Because this wasn't just a one-time mistake.

It was the beginning of something she couldn't control.

She reached her car, gripping the handle to steady herself before climbing inside. The moment the door shut, she exhaled sharply, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

This changes nothing.

Damian's words echoed in her mind, a sharp contrast to the way he had touched her, the way he had made her feel as if she was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

But to him, it was nothing.

Just another night.

Her stomach twisted as she sat back, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

She should hate him for it.

She should be angry that he could walk away so easily, unaffected.

But she wasn't.

Because deep down, she had known what this was.

A mistake.

A dangerous, beautiful, intoxicating mistake.

And yet, she already craved more.

---

By the time Isla arrived home, it was nearly midnight. The soft glow of her apartment lights felt distant, unfamiliar, as if she had stepped into a different world. One where Damian Sinclair didn't exist.

She wished it were that easy.

Kicking off her heels, she dropped her purse onto the couch and ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly.

A glass of wine. That's what she needed.

Something to dull the emotions clawing at her, something to make her forget the way Damian had looked at her-like she was something he wanted but shouldn't have.

She walked into the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of red wine she kept for nights like this. But just as she poured the liquid into a glass, her phone buzzed.

Her pulse jumped.

For a moment, she thought-hoped-it was him.

But when she glanced at the screen, disappointment settled in her chest.

It wasn't Damian.

It was her best friend, Lila.

Lila: You're still alive, right? Or did work swallow you whole again?

A small, tired smile tugged at Isla's lips. She had been dodging Lila's calls the past few days, using work as an excuse, but the truth was, she had been avoiding this moment-facing reality.

Before she could overthink it, she texted back.

Isla: Alive. Barely.

The reply came almost instantly.

Lila: Then you have no excuse. Brunch tomorrow. No arguments.

Isla sighed. She knew Lila wouldn't take no for an answer, and honestly, she needed the distraction.

Isla: Fine. But if you drag me to that overpriced café again, you're paying.

Lila: Deal.

Shaking her head, Isla set the phone down and took a slow sip of wine, letting the bitterness settle on her tongue.

Tomorrow, she would pretend everything was fine.

Tomorrow, she would forget about Damian Sinclair.

Even if it killed her.

---

The next morning, Isla arrived at the café a few minutes late, unsurprised to find Lila already there, sipping on what looked like her second cup of coffee.

"You look like hell," Lila greeted, raising an eyebrow as Isla slid into the seat across from her.

"Good morning to you too," Isla muttered, reaching for the menu even though she already knew what she wanted.

Lila leaned forward, her brown eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You disappeared for days, ignored my texts, and now you're avoiding eye contact. Spill."

Isla hesitated.

Lila knew her better than anyone. If there was one person who would see right through her, it was her.

"I was just busy with work," Isla said, forcing a casual tone.

Lila scoffed. "Bullshit."

Isla sighed, rubbing her temples. "Can we not do this?"

"Nope." Lila leaned back, crossing her arms. "Who was it?"

Isla nearly choked on her water. "What?"

Lila smirked. "You only get like this when a man is involved."

Isla rolled her eyes. "Not everything in my life is about men."

"No," Lila agreed, "but when you look like you've been emotionally wrecked overnight, I have to assume it's not because of your job."

Isla opened her mouth to argue, but no words came.

Because Lila was right.

And she was tired of pretending otherwise.

She exhaled, staring down at the table. "It was Damian."

Lila's eyes widened. "Damian Sinclair?"

Isla winced. "Keep your voice down."

"Are you kidding me?" Lila hissed, leaning forward. "The Damian Sinclair? The man you swore you'd never-"

"Yes," Isla cut in, her voice tight. "That one."

Lila stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she had lost her mind.

Then, she sighed. "Shit."

"Yeah," Isla muttered.

Lila shook her head. "Tell me everything."

So Isla did.

She told her about the night, about the way Damian had looked at her, touched her. About the way he had said it meant nothing.

By the time she was done, Lila looked torn between slapping her and hugging her.

"That man is a walking red flag," she muttered.

Isla gave a humorless laugh. "Tell me something I don't know."

Lila sighed, drumming her fingers against the table. "So what now?"

Isla hesitated. "I don't know."

Because the truth was, she wasn't sure if she could walk away.

Not when she already wanted more.

Not when she knew Damian would never let her go so easily.

---

That night, Isla tried to focus on work.

She buried herself in reports, answered emails, and did everything she could to keep her mind off Damian.

It didn't work.

Because no matter how hard she tried, his voice, his touch, his presence lingered.

So when her phone rang, and his name flashed across the screen, her breath caught.

For a moment, she debated ignoring it.

She should ignore it.

But her fingers moved before she could stop them.

She pressed accept.

Silence stretched for a second before his voice came through, deep and smooth as ever.

"You left too quickly last night."

Her heart pounded. "I thought you didn't care."

A low chuckle. "I never said that."

She swallowed. "Then what are you saying?"

A pause.

Then, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"That I'm not done with you, Isla."

A shiver ran down her spine.

She should hang up.

She should walk away.

But she didn't.

Because neither was she.