The door clicked softly behind Isla as she stepped into Mike’s bedroom. The air was thick with tension—his fury still hanging like a storm cloud that refused to pass. He stood with his back to her, breathing hard, his fists clenched at his sides. His silhouette was a carved shadow, illuminated only by the subtle glow of the hallway light.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said in a whisper-soft voice, gliding toward him. “I know you’re angry. Hurt. Betrayed.”

Mike didn’t respond. His jaw was tight, muscles flexing under his shirt as he continued to pace like a predator in a cage. Isla watched him carefully, her movements...