Isabella woke at dawn, still wrapped in Liam's arms.
After her apartment confrontation, after his desperate plea, after she'd still refused to answer—they'd stood there in tense silence until Liam had finally, wordlessly, pulled her against his chest and held her. Just held her. For hours. Until they'd somehow ended up in her bed, fully clothed, wrapped around each other like drowning people clinging to driftwood.
No words. No promises. Just the desperate need to not be apart.
Now, in the pale morning light, Liam was still asleep—a rarity. His face was softer in sleep, younger, the constant tension finally eased. His arm was locked around her waist, possessive even unconscious.
Isabella carefully extracted herself and went to the bathroom. Stared at her reflection. At the woman who'd let herself fall so completely for a man who couldn't love her out loud.
The contract had one month left.
