Chapter 3

Unspoken Things

Dominic’s POVI wasn’t a man who missed details. I could spot a lie in the flicker of an eye, a betrayal in a half-beat pause over dinner.So how had I missed this?I stood at the doorway of our bedroom, arms folded, watching Isabella silently fold clothes into neat stacks.Not designer dresses she wore for events, not the cocktail gowns that hugged her curves the way I liked. No, these were soft knits, linen shirts—things she used for travel.“Going somewhere?” I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral.