Chapter 28 Who would you choose?
Isla's POV.
By the time the car slowed in front of the Romano building, my chest already felt too stiff from the thoughts in my head.
I sat in the car for seconds longer than necessary, my fingers were curled in my lap, my eyes were fixed on the glass doors ahead.
People moved in and out of the building. It has always been a busy place, everyone had somewhere to go.
And I did too. But it just didn’t feel like it belonged to me.
Inside, the day started as usual. Meetings. Files. Voices talking numbers and power as if they were procrastinating the weather.
I just took notes. I answered questions and stood where I was supposed to be.
From the outside, my expression was good.
But he was the only one that noticed.
It wasn’t obvious. I didn’t trip over my words or miss deadlines. I did my job the way I always did, steady and quiet.
Making sure no one could point at me and say I didn't belong there.
I had spent too long living under my father’s control to let his shadow follow me into this place.
But he watched every step I took and every pause my feet made.
The way my attention was so lost that it could be felt.
The way I had been checking my phone before I actually realized I had been checking it.
He didn’t call me out, he just adjusted around me instead.
He slowed the pace of the meeting when he noticed my attention slipped. He shifted a discussion to email when my jaw tightened.
He dismissed the meeting early without any reason.
No one dared to question him. And not one questioned me either.
That quiet protection wrapped around me whether I wanted it or not.
At lunch, I sat across from him, I didn’t touch my food, I was so lost in my own thoughts.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said casually as if we were talking about some schedules.
“But something’s pulling at you.”
I looked up. His voice wasn’t demanding. His eyes weren’t sharp and there was no pressure in the space between us.
And that was the worse part. “I’ll handle it,” I said.
He gave a nod, once. “I know you will.”
The way he trusted me marbled me too.
It settled in my chest in a way that made it uneasy.
Because I couldn’t figure out why he trusts me.
My phone vibrated again in the afternoon. Josie.
I waited until I was alone to answer.
“He’s still talking about it,” she said quickly. “He keeps saying it’s the only way.”
My stomach turned. “Has he named anyone?”
“Not directly. Just hints. And family ties.”
The words felt dirty even when hearing them.
“Don’t worry, Josie. I’ll figure out something,” I told her.
“You always say that,” Josie whispered. This time, I didn’t answer right away.
After work, my husband was waiting. He was leaning against the car as if he had planned to do that all day.
I almost turned away. Almost.
“Isla,” he said, straightening. “Please. Just talk to me.”
I crossed my arms, more for myself than for him. “About what?”
“About us. Whatever we broke.”
The way he said it was different. I’m a softer, less controlled tone.
“I’m not trying to own you,” he added quickly, as if he had the words in his throat already, waiting to be spoken out. “I just want to understand you again.”
Again…. Hmm.
Those words landed heavier than he had ever meant it.
“You’re trying now,” I said. “And that doesn’t erase what had happened before.”
“I know it wouldn’t,” he replied. “But it means something.”
It did… and that scared me too.
We stood there longer than we should have, picking words carefully, as if we were afraid of saying a wrong word that might ruin the little peace we just had.
When I finally left, my thoughts followed me all the way home.
Damian’s quiet steadiness. Dante’s effort. Two men standing back instead of pulling.
And for the first time, neither of them were forcing me. I don’t need to hide how I feel and worry about how to deal with them…
And that felt more frightening than being trapped.
That night, alone in my room, I stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe , despite the weight caught in my chest.
I wasn’t desperate. I wasn’t weak. I was just a girl trying to survive and terrified of choosing wrongly.
The next day passed in fragments. Work flowed as usual, conversations happened, and I did everything right.
But inside, I was split open.
When Damian brushed past me in the hallway, his hand barely grazing my arm, something sparked so sharply I had to still.
He noticed. Like he always did.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.
I nodded. “I will be.”
He didn’t touch me again. That restraint burned more than anything else could have.
Later, Dante texted. Just checking on you. No pressure.
I stared at the message for a moment too long.
Two men. Two paths. Not waiting. And neither did they block each other.
As I stood by the window that night, city lights flickered below, pressing my palm to the glass and finally let the question form.
If no one is forcing me anymore, why does choosing feel like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done?