"Yes?" Isabella's voice came out as a nervous giggle, the kind that hides a tremor of uncertainty. She half-smiled, eyes sparkling with a mix of challenge and curiosity. "Don't tell me it's harmful to you!" she teased, trying to keep the mood light, but the moment her words hung in the air, Cyrus's reaction silenced her.
His head shook slowly, deliberately—an almost imperceptible but firm refusal. His gaze stayed steady, calm, but there was a weight behind it, something heavier than the gentle man she had come to know.
"You gave me something so precious, Isabella," he said softly, voice low and almost a whisper, as if trying to shield her from the truth. "And you can't keep going there."
He reached out then, his hand gently grasping her wrist. The touch wasn't harsh or demanding; it was the quiet insistence of someone desperate to protect what they loved. His fingers curled lightly around her arm, grounding her in the moment, halting whatever words she might have tried to say.
