Chapter 19 My Isla
Dante's POV.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me something had gone wrong.
The house felt different when I walked in. It was quiet. The kind that comes after something breaks and everyone pretends it didn’t.
Loosened my tie and crossed the hall. My steps echoed and I hated that sound. It always reminded me I was alone in my thoughts.
“She saw it.”
That was all my assistant said. Just those two words.
I stopped walking.
“Say it again,” I said.
“She saw Lucia and your brother.”
I turned slowly. “Not what happened,” I said. “I asked how she reacted.”
He hesitated, and that was enough to make my chest tighten.
“She didn’t raise her voice,” he said. “She just stood there for a moment and then walked away.”
Isla walking away hit harder than any scream would.
She was always quiet and dignified. Carrying the weight alone because no one stood beside her.
My jaw tightened. “Leave.”
He didn’t argue.
When the door closed, I stayed where I was. I didn’t move or breathe properly.
I imagined it. Lucia too close. Damian frozen. Isla standing there, hoping just for a second that her husband would choose her.
And he didn’t.
Something sharp twisted in my gut.
I told myself I shouldn’t care this much. She wasn’t mine and that this whole thing was already tangled beyond repair.
But the truth was ugly and simple.
I cared too much. I reached for my phone before I could talk myself out of it.
Dinner. Outside the mansion. Tonight.
I kept staring at the screen after sending it. My thumb hovered, ready to type something softer. Something safer.
I didn’t. If she comes, that should be because she wants to, not because I begged.
Minutes past, nothing. I exhaled slowly.
I bet she was fighting it. I could almost hear her thoughts.
Telling her she shouldn’t. That she was married.
That she had already crossed too many lines with me.
Then my phone buzzed.
“What time?”
A small smile tugged at my face.
She walked into the restaurant like she was hiding from something.
She wasn’t dressed to impress or to attempt. Just Isla. Tired eyes, shoulders a little stiff as if she had been holding herself together all day.
I stood when I saw her.
Her gaze flicked to mine, then away, as if there was something about me that scared her.
“You shouldn’t have invited me,” she said.
“And yet you came,” I replied.
She sat across from me, hands folding tight on her lap.
“I didn’t agree,” she said.
“You didn’t refuse.”
Her lips pressed together. She hated that I always noticed the small things.
Silence stretched between us. Thick and loaded.
I poured wine, and slid the glass toward her.
She didn’t touch it.
“Are you going to say it?” She asked quietly. “Or pretend nothing happened.”
“I won’t pretend,” I said.
Her eyes lifted.
“Then say it.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“I heard,” I said.
Her breath hitched despite herself.
“I didn’t want to hear it from anyone else,” I continued. “I wanted to hear it from you.”
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.
“You think I want to talk about it?”
“No,” I said. “But you need to.”
Her fingers tightened.
“I felt stupid,” she said. “Standing there and watching him look at her like… like I was even there.”
My chest tightened.
“No one defended me,” she added. “Not him. Not anyone.”
I stood.
She stiffened as I walked around the table, but she didn’t move away.
I stopped beside her chair, not touching her yet.
“That,” I quietly said, “Is where he failed you.”
She looked at me, eyes glassy.
“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered. “You’re not my…”
“Don’t,” I cut in, voice low. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
She swallowed.
“You don’t understand how hard it is,” she said. “I keep telling myself this is normal. Couples fight. They hurt each other.”
“This wasn’t a fight,” I said. “This was neglect.”
Her breath trembled.
“And you,” she said. “You make it worse.”
“Because I see you,” I said.
“That’s not fair.”
“I’ve never claimed to be fair.”
She stood abruptly, pacing once, then back to me.
“You look at me like I already belong to you,” she said.
“Because you do,” I replied.
She stared at me, eyes wide.
“I’m married,” she said again, like repeating it might anchor her.
“So am I,” I said calmly.
That shook her.
“I know your father has been calling,” I continued before she could speak.
The expression in her face changed.
“What?”
“He’s pressuring you,” I said. “Threatening your siblings. Reminding you where you came from.”
“How did you know that,” she demanded.
“Because I checked,” I said. “Because I can’t stand not knowing who was hurting you.”
Her shoulder sagged.
“I can protect them,” I said. “All of them.”
Her voice cracked. “Why?”
Because I want you safe. Because I want you near me. Because the thought of you breaking where I can’t reach you something savage rises in my chest.
Instead, I said, “Because I don’t like losing what I care about.”
She shook her head. “What do you want from me,” she asked.
I stepped closer, too close.
“I want you where I can see you,” I said. “Where no one else can corner you. Where you don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”
“That sounds like a cage,” she whispered.
“It’s a shield,” I said. “You decide which one it becomes.”
I placed the folder in the table. “What’s that,” she asked warily.
“A job,” I said. “With me.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
“As your secretary?” She asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s not appropriate.”
“It’s control,” I said. “And safety.”
“And obsession,” she shot back.
I didn’t deny it. Her phone buzzed. She looked at it and went still.
“Your father?” I asked.
She nodded. She didn’t answer.
I covered her hand with mine. And this time, I didn’t pull away.
“He won’t touch them,” I said. “I won’t allow it.”
“You sound so sure,” she whispered.
“I am.”
She looked at our hands like she was afraid to breathe.
“I don’t know where I stand anymore,” she said.
I leaned in, voice low, and dangerous.
“Then stand with me.”
When she left, she took the folder.
I stayed behind, staring at the empty chair.
Damian had chosen silence. Lucia had chosen provocation.
I chose Isla.
And if I had to tear control from my brother’s hand to keep her from slipping away…
I would. Without hesitation.