Freya’s POV
Would she actually care about Isabella’s wellbeing?
*Don’t make assumptions,* I chided myself, turning away before he could notice eavesdropping. I slipped into Isabella’s bedroom, forcing my emotions back under control.
Isabella lay sleeping peacefully, the IV finally removed from her tiny arm. Sara was gently patting our daughter’s forehead with a cool cloth, wiping away the sweat from her fever breaking. When she spotted , she imdiately moved aside, offering the washcloth—expecting to take over as I always had in the past.
I shook my head slightly. Sara paused, confusion flickering across her weathered features before she resud her ministrations, carefully changing Isabella into dry pajamas.
I settled onto the small sofa in the corner of the room, watching my daughter’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Only when Sara had finished did I speak.
"Is the doctor gone?" I asked quietly.
"Yes," Sara nodded.
"What did he say? Will her fever return?"
I was calculating whether I needed to stay overnight, weighing my desire to protect my pup against the emotional minefield of being in this house again.
"The doctor said it’s unlikely," Sara replied, adjusting Isabella’s blanket one last ti.
"That’s good." Relief washed through . If Isabella was truly on the nd, I could likely leave before morning. Before having to face more of whatever was happening between Silvano and Aurora.
Rembering the porridge still simring downstairs, I excused myself after sitting with Isabella a while longer. As I reached the kitchen, Sara was already there tending the pot.
"I can watch this, Luna," she said, the formal title still slipping out despite everything that had changed. "You must be exhausted. Please, rest a while."
I stepped out of the kitchen and imdiately spotted Silvano sitting in the living room, his powerful fra sohow making our oversized leather sofa seem small. He was reading what appeared to be territorial reports, his dark brows drawn together in concentration.
He glanced up as I entered, our eyes eting briefly before he deliberately returned his attention to the papers. The bond between us humd with tension, with all the things unsaid.
I hesitated. Once, I would have crossed the room without hesitation, settling beside him, content to simply be in his presence even if we didn’t speak. I would have brought him coffee exactly how he liked it, or maybe just rested my hand on his shoulder as I passed.
But now... there was nothing left to say between us. Nothing that wouldn’t lead to more pain.
I turned toward the stairs, and Silvano made no move to stop . Strangely, he hadn’t ntioned the incident with Aurora at all. I’d expected his Alpha voice, demanding explanations about how Johnny and I had supposedly "cornered" his precious assistant. But there was nothing—just this heavy silence.
Before I’d reached the top of the stairs, Isabella’s door opened. She erged looking pale but determined, her small face brightening when she spotted .
"Mom, I’m hungry," she said, her voice still raspy from her illness. "Is the porridge ready?"
"Almost," I assured her as Sara appeared behind her to check her temperature.
"No fever," Sara announced with a smile. "She’s doing much better."
Relief flooded through . I headed back to the kitchen to check on the porridge, and five minutes later, called out, "Bella, it’s ready!"
I ladled the steaming porridge into a bowl and turned toward the doorway, startled to find Silvano standing there beside our daughter, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder.
"Mommy, you only brought one bowl," Isabella pointed out, frowning. "Daddy eats with too."
I hadn’t expected Silvano would join us. Before I could respond, Sara stepped forward. "I’ll get more bowls," she offered cheerfully.
I’d made plenty—habit from all those years of cooking for the three of us—even though I hadn’t planned to eat any myself. Isabella always ate small portions when she was sick, and there would be enough for Silvano and to share what remained.
As we settled around the table, I focused on my bowl, avoiding Silvano’s intense gaze. He’d removed his watch, his long fingers elegantly holding the spoon as he stirred the porridge.
Isabella took a spoonful and sighed contentedly, her eyes closing in pleasure. "I’ve missed this so much. It slls amazing."
"Now that you’re back ho, you can have it whenever you like," Sara said with a smile.
"Yes!" Isabella agreed enthusiastically.
I tensed at the implication but remained silent, sensing Silvano’s gaze on from across the table. Neither of us spoke as Isabella chattered on, the tension between us a living thing.
"Mommy," Isabella said suddenly, her eyes pleading, "will you sleep with tonight? Please?"
I’d been planning to refuse, to return to my empty apartnt, but looking at her still-pale face, the vulnerability in those eyes so like her father’s, I found myself nodding.
"Of course I will," I agreed softly.
Isabella barely managed to finish one bowl of porridge, and Silvano ate sparingly as well. As we left the dining area, the pot was still half full.
Despite her illness, Isabella insisted on bathing before bed—always fastidious, just like her father. I supervised her bath, worried she might catch a chill, and helped her into fresh pajamas.
Once she was settled, I hesitated, then made my way to the master bedroom to retrieve sothing to sleep in. I expected to find my belongings packed away, removed as thoroughly as I had been from Silvano’s life.
When I stepped inside, I froze in surprise. Nothing had changed since I’d left. My slippers still waited beside the bed. My hand cream and moisturizer remained on the vanity. My favorite mug still sat on the nightstand on what had once been my side of the bed.
It was as though I’d never left at all. As though Silvano was simply waiting for to return ho.
Selene whined softly in my mind, her confusion matching mine as I stood in the doorway of what had once been our sanctuary.
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