I stared at my reflection — composed, immaculate, untouched.
Somewhere in the house, Julian Grant lay dreaming of nothing.
And somewhere else, the man who had always stood behind me had just admitted he was watching me like a liability.
This marriage wasn’t dangerous because Julian couldn’t speak.
It was dangerous because everyone else already was.
Isabella's POV
The Grant residence did not welcome people.
It assessed them.
Even the driveway curved inward like a question mark, flanked by sculpted hedges trimmed into lines too precise to feel alive. When the car came to a stop beneath the glass overhang, I expected Ethan to open my door.
He didn’t.
Another vehicle had pulled in beside us — a white sedan with tinted windows, sleek and unassuming in the way things become when they don’t need to announce their importance.
Ethan was already out of his seat.
He didn’t glance at me as he stepped into the rain, his attention drawn entirely toward the other car. The driver’s door opened, and a woman emerged, her movement unhurried, her posture carrying a comfort that didn’t belong to guests.