ISABELLA
The chill in the air bit through the thin fabric of my blouse, but I barely felt it—numbness had long settled into my bones, dragging behind me like a heavy veil.
My hands trembled as I clutched the small box to my chest, the only proof of what had just happened.
The flashing of cameras stung my eyes, the harsh whispers from reporters like knives carving through already fragile skin.
"Lorenzo." That was all for me to say for him, moved like a storm in a silk suit, eyes molten with fury and desperation.
Before I could blink, his coat was off his shoulders and around mine, cocooning me in warmth, and the scent of him amber and spice, familiar, grounding.
"Mia," he breathed, voice low, as if saying my name too loud would shatter me further.
My lips parted, but nothing came out. I stood frozen, cheeks damp, eyes swollen, a pout tugging at my mouth like a silent cry for help.
