Cyrus' soft voice had barely landed when Kian's "No" cut through the air like a blade dipped in ice.
Both Isabella and Cyrus turned to him—equally surprised, equally caught off guard—but for different reasons.
Kian didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He simply stood there like a carved statue of restraint, his eyes locked on Isabella's, expression unreadable. The shadows clung to the sharp lines of his jaw as if even the light was hesitant to touch him.
"No... what?" Isabella asked slowly, her voice not quite hers, not quite anyone's. Something tight settled in her chest—tight enough to make breathing feel effortful.
Kian didn't answer.
Instead, he took a step forward.
It was small, quiet, and casual—yet it rang in her bones like thunder. Her back stiffened, toes curling instinctively into the furs beneath her feet. Every nerve felt suddenly raw, her skin prickling with invisible heat.
