Ethan hadn't returned all night.

Isabella rose from the bed and moved toward the floor-to-ceiling window. She knew Eleanor was still in the guest room and didn't want to worry her, so she forced her own anxiety down.

After washing up, she went downstairs. Breakfast was already laid out.

"Mr. Blackwood... didn't come home last night?" she asked Henry, her voice steady but with a slight quiver.

Henry gave a slight shake of his head. "No, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Did he say when he might return?"

"He did not," Henry replied, his tone respectful but carrying an unspoken tension.

Isabella bit her lower lip, struggling to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

She walked to the dining table and picked up a piece of toast without thinking. She took a bite, but it tasted like nothing. The morning felt empty and mechanical.

Eleanor appeared at the top of the staircase, full of energy as if her recent hospital stay had been nothing but a brief inconvenience.

"Isabella," she called out warmly. "You should have slept a little longer."

Isabella forced a small, tired smile. "I couldn't sleep."

Eleanor took the seat beside her, studying her carefully. Her expression softened. "This is about Ethan, isn't it?"

Isabella's fingers tightened slightly around her fork. She didn't answer.

"Oh, sweetheart," Eleanor said with a light chuckle. "Matters of the heart have a way of working themselves out. Don't overthink what you can't control."

Isabella exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling as she tried to absorb the words.

"I'm fine, Grandma," she said softly.

Eleanor watched her for another moment, then sighed and headed back upstairs.

Isabella knew she meant well, but inside, she was a storm of emotions—sweetness, bitterness, uncertainty—all tangled together.

Just then, Henry stepped forward and placed a beautifully wrapped gift box on the table with careful precision.

"Mrs. Blackwood, this just arrived from Ms. Sterling," he announced.

Isabella blinked, her gaze falling on the package.

Already? She remembered Olivia mentioning the dress for the Starlight Gala, but she hadn't expected it to arrive so soon.

A warmth spread through her chest. Olivia never did anything halfway.

"Thank you," Isabella murmured, nodding at Henry before reaching for the elegant ribbon. Her fingers worked delicately, untying the bow as anticipation stirred inside her.

She lifted the lid. A breathtaking silver gown was revealed, shimmering under the morning light. Tiny diamonds adorned the fabric, catching every glimmer like captured stars.

Isabella ran her fingers over the smooth silk. It felt like liquid against her skin. She carefully lifted the dress and held it against herself, unable to resist its beauty. A soft breath escaped her lips.

"It's... stunning," she whispered to herself.

With a maid's assistance, Isabella slipped into the gown. The fabric molded to her frame like a second skin, accentuating every curve with effortless elegance. It was neither too tight nor too loose—just perfect.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror, her breath catching at her reflection.