Isabelle’s POV

There was something surreal about sitting across from Damion again.

Not in a courtroom. Not in a hallway filled with tension. Not even at a gala where we played polite for the crowd.

Just us.

A table between us, a half-filled glass of sparkling water in front of me, and years of silence pressing on both our shoulders.

He didn’t fidget.

Didn’t lean in, or try to fill the space with grand apologies or careless charm.

He just waited.

Like he’d finally learned that ...