The moonlight spilled through the tall windows of the Iyke Mansion, painting silver streaks across the marbled floors. Isabella walked quietly through the corridors, her thoughts still lingering on Damian's words.
She was halfway to her room when she saw her mother waiting in the sitting room, a porcelain teacup balanced elegantly in her hand. Evelyn Iyke, graceful even in the simplest attire, lifted her eyes and smiled faintly.
"Isabella," she called softly, "come sit with me."
Obediently, Isabella joined her, perching lightly on the velvet sofa. In her past life, she had always taken her mother's quiet presence for granted, rarely confiding in her. Now, just seeing Evelyn alive, unburdened by grief, made her throat tighten.
"You've been… different tonight," Evelyn said, her eyes sharp though her tone remained gentle. "More thoughtful. Less fiery."
Isabella hesitated, then smiled. "Is it so bad, to change a little?"
"Not bad," Evelyn murmured, studying her daughter's face as if searching for something. "But change does not come without reason." She set her teacup aside. "Tell me, child—are you troubled?"
The question pierced deeper than Isabella expected. Memories of betrayal, of false friends, of blood and ashes clawed at her mind, but she forced herself to remain composed.
"No, Mother," she said softly. "I just realized I haven't been the daughter you deserve. I want to do better. I want to… make you proud."
Evelyn's eyes softened with surprise. She reached forward, gently brushing Isabella's cheek. "You already make me proud, my love. You always have."
For the first time in two lifetimes, Isabella allowed herself to lean into her mother's touch. Her heart ached with a fierce determination—this warmth, this tenderness—she would protect it, no matter the cost.
Unseen by them both, a shadow lingered beyond the doorway—a servant pausing too long, listening where they should not.
And just as swiftly, they slipped away into the darkness of the mansion's halls.