The late evening cast golden stripes through the sheer curtains of Isabella's temporary bedroom in the Lin estate. Outside, the garden swayed gently in the breeze, a deceptive image of peace.
Inside, Isabella stood with her back to the window, arms crossed as Amelia Lin spoke—again.
"You're not even trying," Amelia snapped, arms folded tightly across her chest. "Our parents finally found you, and all you do is act like you're above everything."
Isabella's expression didn't change. "I am trying. Just not the way you expect."
Amelia's lips curled into a sneer. "Oh, please. You hardly talk to anyone. You keep disappearing into that lab of yours. Do you even care about this family?"
No.
But she didn't say it.
Instead, Isabella replied evenly, "Caring doesn't require theatrics."
Amelia's face flushed. "You think you're so smart. Just because you helped Mr. Blackwood's grandmother a few times doesn't mean he actually likes you."
Isabella's gaze sharpened at the mention of Victor, though she remained calm.
"I didn't help her for his affection," she said softly. "I helped her because I could."
Amelia laughed, brittle and bitter. "He's only being nice because our families arranged the engagement. You really think someone like him would fall for someone like you?"
Someone like me.
Isabella tilted her head slightly. "You're right. He shouldn't fall for me."
Amelia smirked, satisfied—until Isabella continued.
"But he is."
The words hung between them like a blade suspended mid-swing.
Amelia's smug expression faltered. "You're delusional."
"No," Isabella said, brushing past her. "Just observant."
She left Amelia fuming in the middle of the room, the door clicking shut behind her with a decisive thud.
Downstairs, Victor stood in the grand foyer with Felix, deep in conversation when he caught a glimpse of Isabella descending the staircase. She was barefoot, dressed in a soft black blouse and pale trousers, hair still damp from a recent shower.
She moved like liquid ice—calm, composed, untouchable.
"Leaving already?" he called.
Isabella's eyes met his briefly. "Just needed air."
"I was just about to do the same," he said, stepping forward. "Mind if I join?"
She didn't answer directly but turned toward the terrace. Victor took it as permission.
They walked side by side under the dim garden lights, past the roses that bloomed like spilled wine.
"She hates me," Isabella murmured.
Victor blinked. "Who?"
"Amelia."
He exhaled through a soft chuckle. "Amelia hates everyone who breathes in her airspace without asking."
"She thinks you like her."
He stopped walking. "She's wrong."
Isabella looked up at him, unreadable. "Why me, then?"
Victor studied her face, the faint silver shadows playing across her skin. "Because you don't try to be liked. You don't chase validation. You're… real."
She looked away, tension flickering at the corner of her mouth. "You know nothing about me."
"I know enough to want more."
Silence settled again.
This time, it was less hostile—more fragile.
"I'm not safe, Victor," she whispered.
He stepped closer. "Neither am I."
A pause.
Then she turned to face him fully.
His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She didn't pull away.
Not yet.
Not this time.