"She won't stay long."
The words left my mouth before I could measure them. They sounded reasonable. Controlled. Like a promise I could keep.
Daniel stared at me as if I'd spoken another language. "You brought her back into this house," he said slowly, "and you think time limits change what she's already done?"
Linia stood a few steps behind me, quiet, her presence pressing against my spine. She hadn't defended herself. She didn't need to. Silence had become her strongest weapon.
"It's temporary," I repeated. "Until things settle."
"Things?" Daniel laughed under his breath. "My accounts are frozen. My name is bleeding across boardrooms. And you think this"—he gestured sharply toward Linia—"is a pause?"
I met his gaze. "I think pretending she doesn't exist won't undo what already happened."
Linia shifted then, her voice calm. "I didn't ask to stay."
"No," Daniel snapped. "You planned it."
Her eyes flicked to him. "You planned worse."
I raised a hand. "Enough."
The room fell silent.
Maria hovered near the doorway, uncertainty etched across her face. The house felt smaller tonight, as if the walls were listening, waiting to decide which side they belonged to.
"I'm tired," I said. "We'll discuss this in the morning."
Daniel scoffed. "You always say that."
"And you always assume tomorrow will fix what you refuse to face," I replied.
I turned toward the stairs. Linia hesitated, then followed. I could feel Daniel's stare burning into my back.
"This won't end the way you think," he said quietly.
I paused, my hand on the railing. "Neither did our marriage."
The guest room door closed softly behind Linia.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening—to her breathing, to the house, to my own pulse. Everything felt heightened. Sharper. As if my body knew something my mind was still trying to process.
"You don't have to stay up," I said without turning.
"I wasn't sleeping," she replied.
I glanced over my shoulder. She stood just inside the room, arms folded loosely, her expression unreadable.
"Temporary," she said. "That's what you told him."
"That's what this is," I replied.
"For you," she said. "Or for me?"
The question lingered.
"Get some rest," I said. "We'll talk tomorrow."
She nodded, accepting the dismissal without protest. That unsettled me more than resistance would have.
In my bedroom, I locked the door for the first time in years.
The quiet pressed in. Not the comfortable quiet of shared nights, but something alert. Expectant.
Pregnant.
The word surfaced again, uninvited.
I pressed my hand to my stomach, my breath shallow. Fear and wonder tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart.
A knock sounded.
My body tensed. "What?"
"It's me," Daniel said. "We need to talk."
"Not tonight."
"It can't wait."
I laughed softly. "That's what you said when you brought another woman into my life."
Silence.
Then, quieter, "Isabella… are you okay?"
I leaned my forehead against the door. "I don't know."
Another pause. "Please."
I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to face him.
His eyes searched mine, desperate. "She's dangerous."
"So are you," I replied. "In different ways."
"I never meant to hurt you."
"That doesn't change the damage."
He swallowed. "You can't trust her."
"I'm not," I said. "I'm watching her."
He flinched. "That sounds like something she would say."
"Exactly."
He shook his head. "You're letting her turn us against each other."
"There is no us," I said gently. "Not right now."
His jaw tightened. "What happens when she turns on you?"
I met his gaze. "Then I'll deal with it."
"And if she's already done worse than you know?" he pressed.
Something in his tone made my stomach drop.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He hesitated.
I stepped back. "Say it."
"She didn't just leak information," he said quietly. "She accessed internal systems. Places no one outside my inner circle should reach."
My pulse quickened. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying she knows things," he finished. "Things that could destroy more than my reputation."
I stared at him, my mind racing.
"You didn't stop her," I said.
"I didn't know," he replied. "Not until it was too late."
The irony tasted bitter.
"I'm going to bed," I said. "Whatever else you're hiding can wait."
He watched me for a long moment. "You're not safe."
"Neither are you," I replied, and closed the door.
I dreamed in fragments—voices overlapping, doors opening and closing, the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
When I woke, it was still dark.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
I slipped out of bed and opened the door slowly. The hallway stretched empty before me. A faint light glowed at the far end.
The study.
I moved toward it, every step cautious. The door was ajar.
Linia stood inside, her back to me, Daniel's laptop open on the desk.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
She didn't jump. Didn't look guilty.
She turned calmly. "Confirming something."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Get away from that."
She closed the laptop and stepped back. "You should see this."
I shook my head. "You don't get to decide that."
Her gaze sharpened. "You already let me in."
"That doesn't give you permission."
"No," she agreed. "But it gives me opportunity."
I stared at her. "What did you find?"
She hesitated. Just enough to make my chest tighten.
"He's been planning an exit," she said. "Offshore accounts. A legal separation disguised as restructuring."
My throat went dry. "When?"
"Before the gala," she replied. "Before Celeste. Before everything exploded."
The room tilted.
"You're lying," I said.
She met my eyes. "Check the timestamps."
I didn't move. I couldn't.
"This is why I said it wouldn't end the way you think," she added quietly. "You think you brought me back to watch me."
"And?" I whispered.
She stepped closer. "You brought me back so you wouldn't have to watch alone."
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Unknown number.
Again.
I looked down.
Temporary stays create permanent consequences.
Another message followed immediately.
Ask her what she hasn't shown you yet.
I lifted my gaze slowly.
Linia was already watching me.
"What else?" I asked.
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she said, "Are you sure you want the truth?"
My heart pounded.
"Yes," I said.
She took a breath.
"Then you should sit down."
And in that moment, I understood—
This was never about charity.
Or shelter.
Or mercy.
It was about what happens
when the wrong person stays
just long enough
to change everything.