Isabella’s composure did not survive the thought any longer.
Her breath hitched, sharply this ti, and the tears ca again—slower than before, heavier. They slipped down her cheeks and gathered at her jaw, falling one by one onto her clasped hands. When she spoke, her voice fractured, each word carried on the edge of sothing raw and exposed.
"But he doesn’t love back," she said.
The fire seed to quiet, as if listening.
"Not like that," Isabella continued, shaking her head. "He’s a good man—kind, reserved, ambitious. He never promised anything he couldn’t give. That’s the worst part." She laughed weakly, wiping at her eyes. "His heart already belongs sowhere else."
Edward straightened slightly in his chair.
"Her na is Eliana," Isabella said. Saying it aloud made her chest tighten. "They were friends since their college days. First love, I think. The kind that digs in deep and never quite leaves."
Winnie brows drew together. "And she’s still in his life?"
"No," Isabella replied quickly. "Not really. She’s married now. Happy. You can see it in the way she talks, the way she smiles." Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "But Henry... Henry never let go."
Edward leaned back, rubbing his chin slowly, eyes thoughtful.
"I saw it at the conference," Isabella went on, voice dropping. "The way he looked at her. Not openly. Not inappropriately. Just... quietly. Like she was a place his heart still knew how to go. He even went crazy with grief when she got hurt."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
"I couldn’t stay," Isabella whispered. "I couldn’t sit beside him and pretend I didn’t see it. So I left. No explanation. I turned off my phone, packed a bag, and ca straight here." She finally looked up at them, eyes shining. "I needed space. I needed to stop hurting."
Edward exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with understanding. "Ah, Bella."
He stood and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out at the darkened garden. "Unrequited love," he said quietly, "is a bitter thing. Swallows pride whole."
He turned back to her. "But running? Disappearing?" His tone softened. "That leaves questions hanging. He’ll be worrying himself sick."
Winnie nodded, her expression gentle but firm. "Your father’s right. Space can heal—but silence can wound just as deeply. Sotis deeper."
She reached out and took Isabella’s hands. "Turn your phone on, love. If he’s half the man you believe him to be, he’ll be frantic."
Isabella swallowed. "And if he doesn’t care?"
The question hung there, fragile as glass.
Edward’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Then you’ll know."
He stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. "And knowing—painful as it is—sets you free. But hiding?" He shook his head. "That’s not the girl who built an empire from nothing. Face it head-on. Just like you always do."
Winnie rose and pulled Isabella into her arms once more. "Sleep on it, darling. Let the night do its work. Tomorrow will co whether we’re ready or not."
The evening folded gently into night.
The manor quieted, settling into familiar creaks and sighs as if the house itself were drifting to sleep. Isabella climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, each step stirring mories. The door opened to faded wallpaper and posters still clinging stubbornly to the walls—dreams from another version of herself. The bed waited, layered with quilts Winnie had sewn by hand, soft and unmistakably ho.
Moonlight filtered through lace curtains, casting pale, intricate patterns across the floor. Isabella lay awake long after the house fell silent, her parents’ words echoing in her mind, Henry’s face drifting in and out of her thoughts. Eventually, exhaustion claid her.
Morning arrived gently.
Sunlight spilled through the window in warm ribbons, gilding the room in gold. Birds chattered in the garden below, their songs bright and insistent. From downstairs ca the comforting sounds of life—clattering pans, low conversation, the rich scent of coffee and bacon winding its way up the stairs.
Isabella dressed slowly and descended.
The kitchen was alive with movent. Edward stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. Winnie moved between counters, setting plates and arranging a small vase of wildflowers she’d just picked from the yard.
"Morning, love," Winnie said, turning with a smile that held no questions, only warmth. "Did you sleep?"
"A little," Isabella replied, taking her seat. "I... thought a lot."
Edward slid a plate in front of her. "And?"
Isabella reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen was dark, heavy in her palm. She stared at it for a long mont before nodding.
"You’re right," she said softly. "If he’s worried... it’s not fair to leave him in the dark."
Winnie rested a hand on her shoulder. "Good girl. Eat first." She smiled. "Whatever cos next, you’ll need your strength."
*
The conservatory was awash with morning light.
Sunbeams spilled through the tall glass panes, scattering across tiled floors and climbing the backs of wicker chairs. Beyond the windows, the fields rolled endlessly, green stitched with hedgerows, the grass bending gently beneath the breeze. Sowhere in the distance, a tractor droned lazily, and closer still, bees worked the late-blooming flowers with single-minded devotion. It was the kind of place where the world felt unhurried—where nothing bad was supposed to reach you.
Isabella sat at the small round table, her breakfast long finished, her teacup cold between her palms.
Her phone lay beside it.
Dark. Silent.
Edward leaned against the doorfra, pretending to study the clouds, though his attention never strayed far from his daughter. Winnie busied herself trimming dead leaves from a potted fern, giving Isabella space—but not distance.
"Whenever you’re ready, love," Winnie said softly.
Isabella nodded, though her chest felt tight. She drew in a slow breath, held it, then reached for the phone.
The mont she powered it on, the quiet shattered.
The device vibrated violently in her hand, buzzing again and again, as if possessed. The screen lit up, flashing notifications so fast she could barely read them. Missed calls stacked on top of one another—Henry. Henry. Henry.
One hundred and twelve.
ssages followed, flooding in until her phone nearly slipped from her grasp.
Isabella, where are you?
Please call back—I’m worried sick.
Did I do sothing wrong?
I’ve checked the hotel. The airport. No one’s seen you.
Just tell you’re safe. Please.
Her breath caught.
"Oh my God," Isabella whispered, the words barely audible. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled, each ssage tightening sothing in her chest. "He... he cares this much?"
Edward leaned over her shoulder, letting out a low whistle. "That’s no small thing, Bella. Lad’s been frantic."
Winnie abandoned the fern and ca closer, her eyes glistening as she read over Isabella’s shoulder. "That’s not politeness," she said gently. "That’s fear."
Isabella’s vision blurred as she reached the voicemails.
Henry’s voice filled the conservatory, cracked and strained, each ssage rougher than the last.
"Isabella, please—if you can hear this, call ."
"I don’t care where you are. I just need to know you’re alive."
"I can’t sleep. I can’t think. Please."
Her throat closed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to steady herself.
Then the phone rang.
The screen flashed with his na, bright and impossible to ignore.
Her heart leapt violently, slamming against her ribs. She looked up at her parents, panic and hope warring across her face.
Winnie smiled through tears and nodded. "Answer it, Bella. Hear him."
Edward folded his arms. "Running’s done enough damage. Ti to listen."
Isabella swallowed hard and swiped to accept.
"Henry?"
The word barely made it past her lips.
"Isabella!" His voice burst through the line, raw and breathless. "Thank God. Thank God. Are you okay? Where are you? I’ve been losing my mind—I checked the hotel, the airport, called everyone I could think of. I thought—" He broke off sharply. "Please tell you’re safe."
Her eyes stung. "I’m... I’m fine, Henry. I promise."
"Fine?" His voice rose, edged with panic. "You disappeared without a word. I thought sothing happened—an accident, or worse. Where are you? Tell right now."
Isabella turned toward the window, toward the calm fields and endless sky, feeling his worry crash over her like a wave.
"I’m at my parents’ house," she said softly. "In the countryside. Outside London."
There was a brief pause on the line—then his tone sharpened with sudden resolve.
"Send the address."
Her heart skipped. "Henry—"
"Now," he said firmly, not unkind but unyielding. "Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming to you. I need to see you, Isabella. Please."
She closed her eyes.
Edward raised an eyebrow. Winnie’s smile was small but knowing.
With a breath that held equal parts fear and hope, Isabella opened her ssages and sent the address.
The phone buzzed almost imdiately.
"I’m on my way," Henry said. "Just... stay there."
Isabella lowered the phone slowly, her hands still shaking.
"Well," Edward said lightly, breaking the tension. "Looks like your quiet countryside’s about to get a visitor."
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