Business magnate's daughter, Isla Templeton (Feather), is the youngest of André Templeton's three children. And the top topic in the upper-class gossip in New York City.
Isla has always been a fighter; after losing her mother at a young age by sui...
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Isla had been so quiet since that night at the party. The ride home was silent, and I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or something deeper—maybe she felt ashamed, maybe she was just lost in her thoughts. I couldn't tell. But the silence was heavy.
In the evening, I found myself climbing out of my window, my feet landing softly on her balcony.
Her door was ajar, and from inside, I heard a faint gasp, so fragile, like she was fighting to breathe. I wanted to rush in, to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay. But something inside me hesitated. I wasn't sure if I was wanted there or if I would only make things worse. But then I heard it—a cry, raw and broken.
"Feather, are you okay?" My voice trembled.
"Get out of here!" she screamed, her voice cracking, trembling with a fear that made my body tense up.
"I can't leave you like this. Please, let me help." My words spilled out, desperate, pleading.
"Just get out of here, Claude! Leave me the fuck alone!" Her voice was a mix of anger and despair, and it terrified me.
Fear gripped me, tightening its hold on my chest. I knew Feather had her battles, demons that haunted her, but I couldn't walk away—not now, not when she needed someone. The house was quiet; the only sound was of her muffled sobs, and then suddenly, everything went still. The cries stopped.
My heart pounded as I pushed the bathroom door open, and there she was, lying on the floor, gasping for air, blood staining the white marble floor around her.
A razor blade glinted in the dim light, discarded beside her. My mind went blank. No words came. I just acted, grabbing a towel, warm and damp, pressing it gently against the fresh wounds on her skin.
I cradled her in my arms, holding her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. Her breaths were shallow, her body trembling.
We stayed like that for hours. Isla lay on the cold floor, and I stayed by her side, not moving, not speaking, just holding on until sleep finally claimed her.
When her breathing evened out, I picked her up, so carefully, and laid her down on her bed. She didn't let go of my hand, so I lay beside her, stroking her hair with my fingers, pressing soft kisses on her forehead until sleep pulled me under, too.
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