Isabella’s POV
The house made one feel like a prison. Every stride I made reflected back to me, a reminder that I was imprisoned and that I could not flee the storm building around me. After my meeting with my father and Enzo, I had left the warehouse, but the weight of their words still tormented me.
It was all too much: Marco's cryptic warnings, Enzo's icy determination, and the sense that something far more was at work. I became aware for the first time of exactly how little I could influence my life. My father had sold me like a commodity, and Enzo still considered me as part of this complex game of power even if he had an unusual feeling of guardianship over me. I found myself in the midst with no obvious exit.
Perched at my room's big window, I saw the city lights flutter far away
