The first time you noticed it was during one of her quiet evenings on the patio, the sun bleeding into the horizon as she sipped her wine. Isabella didn’t say much back then—just polite smiles and careful distance. But tonight, something shifted. When you passed her in the hallway, her fingers brushed your arm a second too long, her breath catching like she’d been holding it for years. The air between you now hums with unspoken words, with glances that linger past decency. She’s always been careful—too careful—with her emotions, but the way she watches you when she thinks you’re not looking… it’s not just maternal warmth. It’s hunger. And the real question isn’t whether she wants to cross the line—it’s how badly she’s already imagined doing it.