Chapter 57 Vows In A Warzone

• (POV: Isabela)
• The dress weighed down like metal, nothing like soft fabric should. It pressed close, too tight across the shoulders, hard to breathe inside it. Stood there motionless in the private chamber, skin nearly matching the blinding white of the gown. Two women moved quick nearby, faces unfamiliar, adjusting folds and tucking seams. Their fingers shook, chilled even through gloves, caught up in knots of lace and thread at the back. A sour tension hung where their words should’ve been, thick enough to taste, while bubbled wine warmed slowly beside polished platters. Far off, past the thick glass of Mateo’s stronghold in Miami, faint noises - maybe screams, maybe blasts - crawled through the air like a dull ache. That day I said yes. While everything else burned in silence.
• Earlier, Rena had shown up for only a moment, her expression shaped into careful sympathy. That soft voice came again - “You seem stunning, Isa” - yet her gaze jumped toward the glass each time thunder cracked. She spoke as if calm mattered: “There’s no need to panic. Mateo knows how things run. They’re simply proving they can.” Each word landed flat, like pebbles dropped into dead air. The whole afternoon wore false skin, twisted theater built on quiet dread.