A simple sentence.A rebellion.He can hear the cost of it in the tightness of her voice.
Callum finds himself standing without realizing he’s moved.The chair scrapes softly behind him.
Isla looks up, startled, and Callum realizes he’s too close, on the same side of the table now, close enough that the air between them is warm.
He stops before he can reach for her.
“Is that what it’s always been like?”he asks, and he hates that his voice is low, too intimate.“People deciding what you’re allowed to do and calling it care?”
Isla’s throat moves as she swallows.“Since I was a teenager.”
The answer hits him like a fist.
Callum inhales slowly, forcing himself not to touch her.Not yet.Not unless she chooses it again.
“And you still became this,” he says quietly.“You still built everything you have.”
Isla’s laugh is brittle and sharp.“At what cost?”
The question hangs there, raw.
Callum sees it then, clearly, without myth, without story.Isla’s success isn’t just talent.It’s survival.
He reaches out before he can stop himself and brushes his fingers against her wrist.He feels her pulse jump under his touch.
Her eyes widen.
Callum doesn’t pull away.He cups her wrist gently, thumb pressing against the inside where her skin is soft and vulnerable.
“I don’t know what it cost you,” he says honestly.“But it wasn’t because you weren’t strong enough.”
Isla’s breath stutters.
For a heartbeat, she leans into his hand.Just slightly.Enough that Callum’s control wobbles.
The room feels smaller.Hotter.Charged.
“This is a bad idea,” Isla whispers.
Callum’s mouth goes dry.He doesn’t deny it.
He dips his head, just slightly, close enough that his breath ghosts over her lips.Close enough that one more inch would undo both of them.
“Then tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
Isla doesn’t.
Her hand slides up his forearm, fingers curling into his sleeve, and Callum’s heart slams hard against his ribs.For one wild second, he thinks she’s going to kiss him again.Thinks he might let her.Thinks the consequences can burn later.
Then her phone buzzes.
The sound is absurdly loud in the quiet.
The spell shatters.
Isla pulls back abruptly, pressing her hand to her chest as if she’s trying to reassemble the pieces of herself.
“We can’t,” she says, more to herself than to him.“Not now.”
