The bedroom was a whirlwind of metallic teal silk. I leaned against the doorframe, watching Isabella spin, the fabric catching the afternoon light and shimmering like the surface of the Thames. She looked radiant, her movements light, almost ethereal.

I couldn't wrap my head around it. Four days ago, she was a broken mess in the back of my SUV, her world leveled by the filth Nathan and Valentina had spat out. Today, she was humming a pop song and debating necklines.

"Too much?" she asked, stopping mid-spin. She frowned at her reflection, smoothing the silk over her stomach. "I don't like this one. It makes me look fat."

"It...