Isla’s POV**

*Fuck, I’m so wet already.*

The thought hit me like a dirty confession as I crept down the grand staircase of my father’s mansion, my bare feet silent on the cold marble. I was wearing nothing but an oversized silk nightshirt that barely reached mid-thigh — no bra, no panties. My nipples were hard, brushing against the soft fabric with every step, and my pussy was already slick, throbbing with that familiar, shameful ache I couldn’t ignore anymore.

It had been like this for weeks. Ever since the nightmares started. Ever since I began waking up with my fingers buried between my thighs, moaning the name of a...