CHAPTER 179
Lucian was gone.
Isabella didn't move for a long time. She remained standing by the window, her forehead resting against the cool glass, watching the morning sky.
The sun was beginning to bleed over the peaks of the Northern range in shades of bruised violet and pale gold.
She could still smell him—that stubborn, lingering scent of sandalwood but the bond had gone quiet. It hadn't vanished; it had simply retreated, coiling back into the depths of her mind like a wounded animal seeking a dark corner.
He was giving her the space she had demanded, but the distance felt less like freedom and more like a different kind of silence.
She turned away from the glass and looked at the room. This was her sanctuary, or at least, she had let herself believe it was.
Now, the velvet curtains and the ornate silver carvings felt like the gilded bars of a cage she had walked into willingly.
