Then a voice boomed over the metal gate, deep and furious enough to shake the air.

“ISABELLA!”

Oh God.

“Isabella, open this damn gate!”

He wasn’t angry. He was furious.

Not controlled. Not calm.

A storm.

Elijah, who had just walked out of the kitchen, froze mid-step.

His eyes narrowed. “Was that—”

I grabbed his arm immediately, panic ripping through my chest.

“Elijah, please,” I whispered sharply. “Stay here. Don’t go outside.”

“Elijah, do not open that ...