Isla POV
I sat in the passenger seat of Ronan's car, watching the streets slide past the window.
The wedding dress fitting was today, and I had been dreading it all week.
Being this close to Ronan made my skin crawl in a way it never used to. I kept my eyes on the window and my hands in my lap and tried to look like a woman who was simply quiet rather than a woman who had watched him press her sister against a car door three nights ago.
"What's with the attitude?"
I turned to him. He was glancing at me, dark hair falling across his forehead, jaw tight.
"It's nothing," I said.
He scoffed. "You've been ignoring my texts and calls all week."
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "What have I done that's so terrible you can't even pick up the phone?"
I almost laughed at the audacity. I didn't even know why he still insisted on being with me. He could simply go and date Vivienne.
I was tired of being the side piece in this relationship.
"I was busy," I said, averting my gaze.
Which wasn't a lie. Gerald had been making my week miserable for not completing his extra work, and the rewrite was still sitting on my desk. Somewhere between all of it, I had been quietly planning my escape from this miserable life.
"Work has been demanding," I added, adjusting my glasses.
His knuckles went white on the wheel, and I stiffened in my seat immediately.
I had forgotten this about him—or maybe I had chosen not to remember. The way his anger arrived suddenly, without any warning.
I remembered every moment he punched the wall, flipped the table, and the cruel way he threw rocks at ducks at the lake.
He may have never hit me during any of those moments, but the slap he had given me in my last life reminded me that he was capable of such things.
I focused on my breathing, holding my hands in my lap to not show my fear.
"I didn't beg for this marriage, Isla." His voice dropped low. "You did. Your parents gave me a mouthful about the proposal. The least you can do is answer my calls."
I nodded out of habit, before stopping myself. I need to stand up for myself and stop being a pushover.
"I can't be available twenty-four hours a day, Ronan," I said, keeping my eyes forward. "I have a job. A career. The same career that's funding this fitting today."
He almost sideswiped a car, making me hold on to my seat in fear. I glanced at him with wide eyes.
The driver honked at him as he almost crashed into him, cursing as he passed Ronan's car.
"What did you just say?" He turned to look at me, face darkening, a vein visible at his temple.
I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. My face turned paler by the second, and I could feel my hands visibly shaking.
And then his phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the tension, and he glanced at the screen immediately.
Vivi ❤️
He picked up without another word to me. His whole face changed—the anger smoothing out almost instantly, his voice shifting into something warmer as he answered.
I turned back to the window, grateful for Vivienne's timing.
But I had definitely learned my lesson. Don't provoke Ronan when he's driving. Don't provoke Ronan at all when I'm alone.
I could feel my hands shaking in my lap. I pressed them flat against my thighs and stared at the passing streets and told myself firmly that I was not going to cry in this car.
I was scared of him.
That was the truth. I had spent six years dressing his anger issues as something else—calling it his passion, his intensity.
I was just scared of him. And I was sad that it took me dying in my last life to realize that.
---
We arrived at the boutique, and Ronan got out without opening my door. I was used to it, and I was glad he was ignoring me, at least.
I looked up and felt my stomach drop.
My parents were already there, standing by the entrance with Vivienne between them. All three of them laughing at something like a photograph someone had planned.
I exhaled slowly.
My parents. My adopted parents. The people who had loved me once—until Vivienne arrived and I became the before picture in a story about someone else.
I watched my mother touch Vivienne's arm, laughing, and felt something old and tired move through my chest.
I got out of the car and walked toward them, arms folded.
Vivienne spotted me first. She turned with a bright smile and pulled me into a hug before I could brace for it.
"What took you so long to get out of the car!" she said warmly against my shoulder.
"I got motion sickness," I said flatly.
Ronan raised a brow at my lie, but I ignored him.
My parents hadn't greeted me. I stood there for a moment waiting before accepting that it wasn't coming.
My mother looked me over. "What's that expression? You don't look happy to be here."
"Just tired from work," I said politely.
"Well." My father straightened. "You could try to look a little more excited. It's your wedding fitting."
"She thinks she's too good for all this," Ronan muttered, already moving toward the entrance without us.
I pressed my lips together.
My mother's eyes cut to me immediately. "What is that face? Is that how you treat the man you're about to marry? You should be grateful—"
"Mom." I kept my voice even.
She kept going, leaning closer, her voice dropping into disappointment. "Don't you dare let a good man like that slip away because of your attitude. You should be on your knees thankful—"
I zoned out at her rambling, staring at the wall behind her.
"What exactly is your problem today?" my father said.
"She had a long week at work." Vivienne stepped in smoothly, her voice gentle and certain. "Let's not get involved in her and Ronan's little disagreement. Today is supposed to be about Isla."
What a two-faced bitch.
My father looked at her with the specific warmth he reserved for her and nodded. "You're so thoughtful."
My mother glanced at me, dissatisfied, before turning back to Vivienne with a smile.
"So much more gracious," she said lightly, almost to herself. "Unlike some people we picked up off the street."
I blinked, my chest tightening at her comment.
Her words landed the way they always did. She always made sure to remind me of that.
My mother was already smiling at Vivienne, unbothered by how her words hurt.
"Mom," Vivienne said softly, a little laugh in her voice. "Come on. Today is Isla's day."
"You're right," my father agreed.
They moved toward the entrance together, the three of them, and I stood on the pavement for a moment in the morning light.
Picked up off the street.
Said at my wedding dress fitting with a casual smile, like I had begged them to take me in.
I put my shoulders back and followed them inside. I could endure this for a few more hours.
Once I got in, Vivienne appeared at my side almost immediately, pressing a small gift into my hands. A ribbon-tied box, neat and pretty.
I hadn't even noticed she was holding it before.
"I saw it and thought of you," she said warmly.
I took the box from her, opening it in front of her. A tin of loose leaf tea sat inside—one of my favorite blends. The exact one I had loved since I was sixteen and never once mentioned to anyone.
I went very still. Before, I would have been grateful that Vivienne was the only one who knew me in and out.
She had always kept my tea quietly restocked for years. Every tin replaced before it emptied, every blend exactly the kind I liked.
But now I needed to question it.
My hands were perfectly steady as I looked up at her. Could this be what she used to poison me?
How many cups? How many years? How many times had I wrapped my hands around a warm mug and drunk whatever she put in front of me without a single thought?
"Thank you," I said.
"Of course," she said softly with a smile. "You're my sister. I'd do anything for you."
I thought so too. But I'm never trusting you again.
