The Chains of the Past
Isabella's point of view
The paper trembled in Damian's grasp, but not because of him. The shaking came from me—my signature, my name, my past mistakes, all laid bare before me.
I felt the world tilt, the walls closing in, the weight of both men's gazes pressing down like a vice on my throat. My pulse slammed against my ribs, erratic, frantic, a drumbeat of panic that threatened to split me in two.
"You're lying," I forced out, my voice hoarse, but even as I said it, a sliver of doubt twisted deep in my chest.
Because I didn't remember.
Leonardo was deathly still beside me, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the chair I was bound to. A slow, deliberate rhythm that sent shivers crawling down my spine. His patience was razor-thin, barely tethered, his control a fragile thing that I knew could snap at any second.
Damian only smiled, the kind of smile that wasn't meant to comfort—it was meant to corner.
