Isabella’s POV
I jolted awake, the crumpled paper on the desk leaving lines in my cheek. The sweat that coated my neck, my pounding heart, the cloying sickness that clung to my stomach—all signs I had been having a nightmare before I’d woken up, though I couldn’t recall what this one was about.
Seems I couldn’t escape them, even if I weren’t sleeping in that dreadful place. I sat up, blinking blearily as I eyed the clock on my desk.
12:17 AM.
It had officially been a week.
A week since that horrid confrontation with Sebastian.
A week since Ethan had frozen the fuel shipments.
A week of waiting—-tense, restless, and unsteady. Slowly unraveling at the edges.
I had worked myself into a sort of stupor in the days since. Partly, it was to keep up appearances—I couldn’t let Michael or Sebastian get suspicious. But mostly, it kept me from losing my mind. Kept the mantra from constantly ringing in my head.
What was Ethan planning next?
When would he make his move?