That—right there—did it.
Her face went blank. Then red. Then blank again. Her arms slowly lifted as if to gesture sothing, but she abandoned the motion halfway and ended up just clutching her sides like she was holding in emotional vomit.
"You—you—ugh!"
Kian’s eyes softened just a fraction. "I didn’t do it to confuse you."
"Oh well congratulations," she muttered, turning to the side as if shielding her face from his gaze. "Because I am confusion itself. Personified. Embodied. Walking-talking—emotionally whiplashed—Isabella. That’s now."
She felt her own voice tremble and imdiately shut her mouth. She didn’t know what to feel. She was still mad. Still overwheld. Still terrified of failing Shelia. But now—now—he had added this to the pot. A kiss. An honest-to-goodness, serious, brain-stealing, heart-racing kiss.
And the worst part?
She liked it.
She liked him.
Kian stepped forward, just once. Not close enough to corner her. Just close enough that his voice could reach her softer now.
The room was dim, lit only by the fading fla hovering near Shelia’s bedding. The weight of unspoken words clung to the air like dust. Isabella’s breath caught for a second as she looked up at him, taking in the subtle shift in his expression—the storm that always brewed in his eyes now looked oddly...calm. Still too unreadable. Still too cold.
She swallowed and said quietly, but firmly, "I can see it in your eyes that after this confession, you’ll still be the sa person."
Kian blinked. But he said nothing.
Her gaze narrowed. "What are you trying to hide, Kian?"
He tilted his head slightly, but the unreadable smile didn’t return. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe louder. Just stood there like marble, carved and controlled.
"You won’t tell ?" she asked again, her voice a little shakier now, though she covered it well by crossing her arms and standing straighter.
Kian’s lips parted, and for once, his tone didn’t sound sharp. It was... thoughtful. "I can also say the sa about you."
Isabella’s brows lifted.
"You always put up this mask of being perfect. Strong. Happy. Loud," he said. "But today—" He paused, and his eyes darkened. "Today, while you stood up for those won... I saw sothing else. You weren’t trying to be loud. You were trying not to break."
The air left her lungs like a punch. She turned her face away slightly, jaw tightening, even as her throat ached.
"Who are you really, Isabella?" he asked. "And what are you also hiding?"
She let out a scoff, but there was no humor in it. Only exhaustion. She turned away from him fully now and started pacing slowly—back and forth in front of the scorched bed where Shelia lay, eyes squeezed shut.
"You want to know who I am?" she muttered. "Let’s see. I’m the girl who keeps everyone entertained because I’m terrified of what happens if I stop talking. I’m the girl who laughs loudest in a room because if I don’t, the silence might eat alive. I care too much. I cry too little. I bite because it’s easier than bleeding."
She paused mid-step, arms dropped to her sides.
"And yes," she added, glancing at him over her shoulder, "I wear a mask. Because if I let it fall, no one will like what’s underneath. Maybe not even ."
Kian stood silent, jaw clenched.
She turned back to him, walking forward this ti with the kind of confidence that didn’t co from pride—but pain. "Fine then," she said, chin lifted. "Maybe I won’t get that answer from you tonight, Kian. But mark my words..."
She stepped even closer, stopping just a breath away from him. "Soon enough, you’ll tell without even asking."
Kian held her gaze. No defiance. No sarcasm. Just stillness.
And then her eyes flicked toward Shelia’s body. Her voice softened again, real this ti. "She’s all bones and burns, barely breathing. And yet I still have to hope I can do sothing for her. That maybe I wasn’t too late."
"If you can save her..." Kian began slowly, drawing her attention back. "Then I’ll tell you everything."
Isabella blinked.
He ant it.
She looked at him long and hard, trying to see if there was so trap, so loophole in his words. But no—his eyes were steady, and though he wasn’t smiling, sothing about the way he watched her now felt... surrendered.
"Everything?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager, but her heart suddenly slamd against her ribs.
"Everything," he repeated.
She studied him. Really studied him. Kian had always been cold. Distant. Guarded like a fortress no one had the map to. But here he was, putting the key in her hand—if only she could turn the lock.
"Does that an I get to own you?" she said, teasing instinctively, masking her thundering chest.
And to her utter shock, he didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. He just said, "Yes. I promise."
Her breath hitched. "You’re serious?"
He nodded once.
Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t co. Not for once in her life because she didn’t want to talk—but because she couldn’t.
Silence wrapped around them again.
Even Shelia’s shallow breathing seed to have softened.
And for once, Isabella didn’t fill the air. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t mock.
She just stood there... unsure what to do with the weight of Kian’s promise resting on her shoulders.
Finally she spoke again without her usual smile.
"D–Don’t think that gets you off the hook," Isabella muttered, voice low, still laced with heat. "You still kept her from . And you—" her breath caught, "—you kissed without warning."
He didn’t deny it. But he didn’t smirk this ti either. His eyes just held hers.
She let out a long breath, pressing her forehead gently against his chest. "You’re going to be the death of ."
His arms ca around her, slow and solid. "That makes two of us."
From the corner, Shelia stirred faintly, a whisper of breath escaping her lips.
Isabella stepped back, carefully, her chest still tight with everything unsaid. She looked up at Kian once more.
"Alright," she said softly. "Ti to save her."
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