Kensington Hall had emptied out by the time Elanor and Isabella finished the rehearsal. Staff members gathered their clipboards, dimmed the chandeliers, and stepped quietly around the couple as if sensing the tension vibrating between them. The air felt heavy charged with something fragile, dangerous, real.
Isabella walked toward the cloakroom to collect her coat, refusing to look in Elanor's direction. Her breath was still uneven from the moment he leaned his forehead to hers. Her pulse still raced with a confusion she didn't want to name. Near the large wooden doors, she paused, inhaled, and whispered to herself:
"Control. You need control."
But the echo of his voice wouldn't leave her.
"Let me be the one who breaks first."
Her hands trembled.
She curled them into fists.
Just breathe.
She reached for her coat, but Elanor appeared behind her, holding it out before she could grab it.
"I'll do it," he said quietly.
"No," she whispered, startled. "I can manage."
"But you don't have to."
Isabella hesitated. It was a simple sentence. A simple gesture. But with Elanor, simplicity was dangerous. Simplicity could shatter her defenses faster than cruelty.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her back to him.
Elanor draped the coat around her shoulders gently too gently. His fingertips brushed her neck. A bolt of warmth shot through her.
She swallowed hard.
"Thank you," she said, the words barely leaving her lips.
He didn't step back.
"Isabella," he said softly.
"Don't."
"You didn't hear what I was going to say."
"I don't need to."
She turned, pulling the coat tighter around herself, creating distance.
Elanor watched her for a long moment before reaching for his own jacket. When he finally spoke, his voice was controlled, diplomatic, almost business-like.
"We have one more thing to review."
She paused. "What is it?"
"The interview tomorrow," he said. "Reporters will be waiting before the gala."
Her brows lifted. "Interview?"
He nodded. "A short one. Public confirmation of our engagement. No personal questions ideally."
"'Ideally' doesn't exist with reporters," she said dryly.
"Then we make it exist."
She held his gaze. "How?"
He stepped closer not invading, not threatening simply present, grounding.
"We stay united," he said. "No contradictions. No hesitation. No cracks."
Her chest tightened.
"You think we can do that?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"Even after what happened today?"
He answered instantly.
"Especially after what happened today."
Her breath caught.
For a second, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to fall into the warmth she felt yesterday. Wanted to imagine this marriage wasn't a battlefield.
But she couldn't.
Her heart didn't trust her mind anymore.
"We should go," she murmured.
Elanor nodded, stepping aside as she left the cloakroom.
They walked toward the main doors. The cold night air seeped through the cracks, brushing against their skin like a warning. Isabella reached for the handle but Elanor stopped her hand gently.
"There are reporters outside," he said. "Not many. But enough."
"Already?"
"The world is hungry for stories," he replied. "Especially about us."
She inhaled sharply. "What do we do?"
"We act married," he said simply.
Her pulse jumped.
His hand closed around hers.
Warm. Steady. Intentional.
"Ready?" he asked.
No.
Absolutely not.
Not if "ready" meant letting the entire world see them like this.
But she nodded anyway.
Elanor pushed the door open with his free hand.
Flashes erupted instantly, blinding like white lightning.
"Mr. Vance! Miss Moreau! Over here!"
"Is it true you two were childhood lovers?"
"Isabella, are you happy with this engagement?"
"Elanor, did your father approve?"
"Are the families merging companies yes or no?"
Chaos.
Lights exploding. Voices colliding. Questions stabbing the air like arrows.
Isabella froze.
Elanor tightened his grip and leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.
"Breathe," he whispered. "You're fine. I'm here."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He lifted their joined hands slightly not forcing, but presenting them. Giving photographers exactly what they needed without giving away what they shouldn't.
The crowd erupted even louder.
"Smile," he murmured.
She tried.
But it wasn't necessary.
Because Elanor did something unexpected.
He turned his head slowly, unmistakably and looked at her with an expression so gentle, so steady, so achingly controlled… that the photographers gasped.
And she?
She forgot how to breathe.
"Elanor," she whispered.
He didn't break the gaze.
"It's not for them," he murmured. "It's for you."
Then he guided her through the crowd, shielding her with his body, answering nothing, offering no comment, keeping her hand until they reached the car.
Only when the door closed and silence fell inside did Isabella finally exhale.
"That…" she whispered, touching her chest, "was too much."
"It's just beginning," he said.
He reached over and buckled her seatbelt for her. Too close. Too slow. Too careful. Her breath hitched, her heartbeat wild, her pulse betraying everything she wanted to hide.
"Elanor," she breathed, "don't"
He stopped.
His hand still on the belt.
His face inches from hers.
His eyes dark in the low car light.
"Don't what?" he asked softly.
"Don't blur the line," she whispered, voice trembling.
"What line?"
"The one that keeps us safe."
He didn't move away.
"Isabella," he murmured, "tell me where that line is."
She swallowed.
"I don't know anymore."
His breath shuddered.
He lifted his hand slowly not touching her cheek, just brushing close enough that the warmth reached her skin.
"Then let me decide," he whispered.
Her eyes widened.
"Elanor"
He pulled back suddenly, as if he'd caught himself crossing something dangerous.
"We should leave," he said abruptly.
She nodded, though her heart hadn't recovered.
The drive back to the penthouse was silent.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full overflowing with every unsaid word between them.
Isabella's fingers rested against her knee, trembling faintly. She tried to calm her breathing. Tried to order her thoughts.
She failed.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the way he looked at her under the hall lights. She felt his hand gripping hers as cameras flashed. She heard his promise
"Let me break first."
And she felt…
Afraid.
Hope was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Yet her heart betrayed her.
Again and again.
When they arrived, she stepped out quickly, needing air, needing distance, needing to be anywhere but beside him.
But Elanor caught her wrist gently.
"Don't run," he said.
"I'm not running," she whispered.
"Yes," he said softly, "you are."
She closed her eyes.
"Elanor… I can't let myself fall again."
"You already are."
Her breath hitched sharply.
She opened her eyes, and he watched her like she was the only thing in the room, the only thing he cared about, the only thing capable of breaking him.
"Elanor," she whispered. "Stop."
He stepped closer.
"No."
Her pulse raced.
"Elanor" she whispered again.
"I will not let fear be the thing that decides what we are."
She shook her head, voice breaking. "You can't decide this alone."
"I'm not asking to decide it alone." His voice lowered steady, determined. "I'm asking you to stop pretending you feel nothing."
Her heartbeat thundered.
Because she couldn't answer.
Because she did feel something.
Too much.
Far too much.
He reached up, brushing her hair back, his touch barely there.
"Isabella," he whispered, "tell me the truth."
She shook her head helplessly.
"I can't."
"You can."
"It hurts."
"I know."
Her eyes watered not with tears, but with pure exhaustion.
"Elanor… please…" she breathed, "don't break me again."
He froze.
Completely.
Then he took her hand slowly, as if it were something sacred.
"I'm not here to break you," he whispered.
"I'm here because I never stopped loving you."
Her breath shattered.
Her knees weakened.
The world fell away.
"Elanor…" she whispered, voice trembling, "don't say that unless you mean it."
"I mean every word."
She trembled.
He stepped even closer.
Then, with a breath that felt like surrender
she whispered.
"Then don't make me fall alone."
His grip tightened.
And for the first time in years, something impossible stirred awake between them
not revenge,
not anger,
not obligation.
But a fragile, undeniable truth.
And neither of them stepped away.
In a world buried beneath sorrow, one whisper can change everything.
Discover my latest novel "WHISPERS BENEATH THE ASHES".