Chapter 11 The cold at breakfast
Isla’s POV
I woke up choking on air. My body jerked from the bed, my hands gripping the sheets, my heart racing so fast.
Sweat clung to my skin, my breath came in gasps and escaped sharply from my mouth, like I had been running from my life.
The nightmare was still fresh in my head.
It came like a shadow, whispering from behind me.
“Wrong bride.”
I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to breathe but couldn’t.
The room felt too big, and quiet and dark. The south wing always had this strange silence that terrified me.
And somehow, since the wedding, it felt like I was the only thing living inside it.
I swallowed, pulling the sheets away.
The dream felt too real. Like I was in a church, wearing a veil, but then I heard a voice.
It didn’t sound like that of a priest, and then a hand slipping a ring through my fingers.
My chest tightened.
I shook my head. “It’s just a dream,” I whispered to myself.
But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a memory hidden deep inside a place I couldn’t reach.
I pushed the blankets away and managed to drag myself to the window.
The sun wasn’t fully up yet, the sky still that early gray color.
My head suddenly replayed about what happened last night.
The way I lost myself in his touch last night.
The way let him cage me against the wall, the way I trembled for him, the way I summoned the courage to look into his eyes.
And the worst part? I didn’t know which of the twins he was.
I didn’t know whether he was Damian or Dante.
Whichever one he was… I could still feel his touch.
I stood by the window for a moment hugging my arms, trying to steady myself.
I then forced my feet to move, I had to go to breakfast, pretend things were normal even though everything inside me was falling apart.
The dining room was silent when I walked in.
And he was there already, sitting at the far edge of the long table.
Back straight, suit perfect. A glass of water beside him, and a file open in his hands.
He didn’t look at me, not even when I stepped inside.
Even when his guards opened the door for me as if I was entering a courtroom, instead of a dining room.
My heart stuttered. He looked untouchable, cold, and focused.
Like nothing in the world could shake him.
But I knew better.
Last night when he cornered me. When his breath touched my skin. And when he whispered those words that left me terrified.
I stood still at the entrance. It felt wrong to move without permission. Stupid, but true.
He waited for seconds before he finally spoke.
“Sit.”
I swallowed and walked to my seat, far down the table.
The distance between us felt like an entire ocean, yet I felt like he was sitting right next to me.
My chair scraped softly as I sat. And still… he didn’t glance at me.
He kept reading, turning pages slowly, as if I didn’t exist.
But I felt him. I felt the shift in the air around him. I didn’t have to look at him to know his mood.
His silence had weight.
I kept my eyes on the plate in front of me. I didn’t have the courage to touch the food, not with him sitting like a shadow.
I wanted to keep quiet… pretended he was there, but something pushed words out of me.
I whispered. “Good morning.”
The words sounded pathetic the moment it left my mouth.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe differently. He just turned another page.
My fingers curled around the edge of my napkin.
Why was he acting like he didn’t touch me last night? Why was he acting like nothing happened?
The silence dragged on. And somehow, that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.
A servant walked in and poured a coffee near his side.
He shifted. Just a small movement, but enough for me to see the side of his face.
And the vein in his jaw. He was angry.
Not at the servant. He was angry at me.
My throat tightened. I looked down again, unable to meet his eyes, even though he hadn’t given me a glance.
I felt him watching now. I tried to stay still but my fingers trembled.
His chair moved suddenly, just a quiet scrape. My breath caught.
He closed the file with one hand and placed it gently on the table as he stood.
He walked around the table, his steps slow and steady.
Toward me. I didn’t breathe, I didn't blink. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it would break.
He stopped behind my chair.
I could feel his heat, even though he wasn’t touching me.
My back straightened on its own. My hand dropped from my lap.
He said nothing. He just stood silently.
A few seconds passed, then his voice dropped low and sharp. “You didn’t sleep.”
I swallowed. “N-no…”
He leaned closer just slightly, not enough to touch me, but enough to pull the breath out of my chest.
“Why?”
The word slid down my back. I forced myself to breathe. “A nightmare.”
He didn’t answer. He just lowered his head near my ear, and my body locked up.
“What did you dream about?” He asked quietly.
There wasn’t any softness in his voice, just possession.
I whispered. “I don’t remember.”
I lied. I remembered every single thing.
But just wanted to see how he’d react. But he didn’t.
He stayed controlled and cold. “Eat.” He ordered.
His tone made the air thicken. My fingers shook as I picked up the fork.
When I lifted it, my hand refused to move.
He watched me silently and unreadable.
I hated how I was aware of him. His presence, his eyes on my back. And the space between us that felt like a trap.
A fork slipped from my hand and hit the plate with a sharp sound.
I flinched, but he didn’t. Instead, he spoke again in a low voice. “You’re shaking.”
I heart slammed. I didn’t know what to say or what to do or what he wanted from me.
But I knew one thing. He wasn’t the same man from last night.
That man had fire in his voice. This one has ice.
He stepped away and walked back to his seat. He didn’t sit. He just stood there, flipping the file open again like nothing just happened.
I looked at him, finally, unable to stop myself.
And he lifted his eyes for the first time. They hit me like ice.
His eyes were dark, cold, and dangerous.
He held my gaze for one long, breathless moment.
Then he said, "Finish your food.”
I couldn’t move or breathe. I forced myself to nod.
He looked down again, shutting me out.
My heart twisted painfully.
Why was he like this? Why did he avoid looking at me?
Why did he act like there was something I shouldn’t see?
Why did he feel like someone I didn’t know at all?
I picked up the fork again, tried to eat, but the food tasted like dust in my mouth.
Then… my phone buzzed on the table.
It buzzed loudly in the silence. My blood ran cold.
He looked up again, slowly this time. His attention was locked on the phone as if it had done something wrong.
I grabbed it fast. It was a message.
From the same unknown contact from last night.
My hands shook harder. “How long will you pretend you’re married to the right twin?”
My stomach dropped, my skin went cold, and my heart stopped for a second.
What? I looked up fast.
Damian. Dante. Whoever he was… was watching me.
Eyes sharp, jaw tight, body still. He knew something was wrong.
“Isla?”he said, voice low.
But I couldn’t speak. Another message came in before I could breathe.
“Wake up before it’s too late.” My heart was crushed.
My throat closed, I nearly slipped. I stood so fast my chair screeched the floor.
He stepped forward in a flash, eyes narrowing, voice turning dark.
“What happened?”
Before I could answer, my phone rang. My father’s name lit up the screen.
I froze. His voice came through the second I answered.
“Isla,” he hissed, cold and cruel. “You better keep quiet and behave. Iris is still in my hands. Do you understand me?”
My breath died. I felt the world closing it.
And behind me, I heard his voice, quiet and sharp. “Who’s that?”
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think.
My father whispered one last thing. “Don’t make me hurt your brother.”
Then the line went dead. I lowered the phone with trembling fingers.
He was already walking toward me. Fast, eyes dark, voice low.
“What,” he asked, each word dripping with danger. “…. Did he say?”