Page 82

“Slander.” He pushed up from his seat, stretching out his cramped muscles before taking the bags of food from her, setting them on the table, and corralling her toward the arm of the couch where Oscar had fallen asleep with his laptop still open in his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear.

They were both famous producers now, but they still consulted for Ironside. They wrote some of Theodore and Kilian’s music and produced all of their songs. They loved working in the background and absolutely hated attention of any kind.

“Have you seen Gabriel?” she asked, as Moses tried to ease the coat from her shoulders.

“He’s in a meeting,” Oscar said, his eyes still closed, his voice sleep roughened. “With the dictator.” His favourite word for Theodore.

Isobel bit back a smirk. “What’s the problem now?”

As Oscar sat up, Moses sighed, realising his moment to divest her of her clothing had passed. He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth before backing off her.

Oscar explained, “Gabriel terrified the Sony rep so badly, she agreed to Theodore’s rider clause without reading it, and now they’re having a meltdown.”

“What clause?” Isobel asked.

“The one where Theo won’t work in any venue that isn’t rated for a nuclear attack.”

Isobel blinked. “What?”

Kilian was the artist who outright refused to travel. Theodore preferred to play these games instead, enjoying his experiments in just how far he could push people before his insufferable actions overrode his charm ability.

Isobel shook her head with a small laugh and stood up. “Never mind. He’s a lost cause. I’m going to make sure the others are taking a break for lunch.”

Oscar caught her hand before she could pass, tugging her to her knees, his hand twisting into her hair, pulling her wordlessly in for a soft, drugging kiss. The kind he only gave when he was half asleep.

He released her too quickly, and she left the high-rise with a fluttering heart.

It took her a while to reach the easternmost point of the academy.

It had been transformed in the last few years into something else entirely—something unlike any other part of Ironside.

A sprawling collection of stone and glass buildings stretched out leisurely behind wrought iron gates, separating the area from the rest of the campus.

There was also a separate, private entrance for this section so that clients didn’t have to walk through the academy grounds. A copper plaque on the wall read:

West Recovery Clinic.

By Appointment Only.

She called the sleek intercom, and the side gate clicked quietly open, admitting her to the path leading to the small welcome cabin.

She nodded to the receptionist who sat inside. “Mrs Battier.”

The older woman was perfectly pressed and presented, her smile soft and comforting as she rose, squeezing Isobel’s hand in greeting.

“Bonjour chérie. He is free.” She nodded to the door behind her desk, and Isobel thanked her, stepping outside again.

The path curved through a stretch of trees that had been left to grow wild, creating the illusion of complete seclusion.

The moment she stepped off campus property and onto Kalen’s domain, everything changed.

The older buildings had been gutted and rebuilt under his direction, forming a single-storey structure of stone and dark glass with living walls that wrapped around the exterior, bright with greenery.

Inside, it was quiet. Always quiet. Plush floors muffled every step, gentle light easing the transitions from space to space.

The air was levelled to a perfect temperature, infused with a scent that smelled like lavender and sandalwood, and whatever else Kalen had decided was calming that week.

She passed a few people in one of the wider courtyards.

All of them were clients, and most of them were celebrities of some sort.

No phones were allowed, so they were simply out there to read or enjoy nature.

The balcony overlooking the courtyard looked like it belonged in a spa resort, with reclining chairs, decorative panels on the walls, and skylights that let in soft, dappled light.

Employees drifted quietly around the space, carrying trays of tea and sparkling water, and little dishes of healthy, curated snacks .

She found Kalen in one of the recovery suites. Because, of course, he was working even though he had nothing scheduled. His patient was quietly repeating vowel scales while he stood nearby, arms crossed, nodding gently. The moment he sensed Isobel, his eyes flicked to the windowed door.

Come in , his voice whispered through the bond.

She did. Silently. He didn’t say anything until the woman finished her vocal exercise.

“Good,” Kalen murmured. “Let’s stop there today. No more than fifteen minutes at a time. You push again, and I’ll reduce the time.”

The woman nodded, voice hoarse and grateful. She padded out with a whispered “Thank you.”

Kalen turned to Isobel fully now, expression softening. “I was expecting you earlier.”

“I was ambushed by a student who wanted a disciplinary mark removed.”

He sighed. “And how is Logan today?”

“As Logan as he’s ever been.”

He motioned for her to follow him and led the way to his private office. She took one of the leather armchairs, sinking into it with a sigh. He crossed to a wall panel, pressed his hand against it, and revealed a hidden minibar complete with espresso machine.

He made them both coffees, and they sat in easy silence for a while. The air in Kalen’s clinic always calmed her. Kalen calmed her .

“This place is so beautiful,” she said softly.

His gaze didn’t move from her. “You say that every time you come.”

“It’s always true.”

“You aren’t the only one who thinks so.”

She sighed. “Theodore and Kilian checked in again?”

His chuckle was low and deep, doing funny things to her stomach. “They finished their meeting and arrived ten minutes before you, claiming they were burnt out and needed rehabilitation.”

She wanted to groan, but all she could do was laugh. Those two would do anything to avoid meetings and tours. All they wanted to do was sing.

“Well,” Kalen said as she finished her coffee, standing and motioning to the door.

“Shall we go and find our superstars before they raid one of the massage rooms? Last time, Kilian got eucalyptus oil in his eye and threatened to sue me for emotional distress unless I told his label that he needed a month of uninterrupted rest.”

She really shouldn’t find their antics so funny, but she simply couldn’t help it, and she was already giggling as they walked side by side into one of the private atrium spaces.

Sweet-smelling open air wrapped around her, trailing ivy soft beneath her feet, warm-toned wooden benches bathing in the sun.

Kilian was lying dramatically across one of them, a damp cloth over his eyes.

Theodore had stolen someone’s clipboard and was pretending to take notes in a chair nearby .

“I’ve diagnosed him with Handsome Fatigue,” Theodore announced solemnly, glancing up in expectation of their entrance. “It’s terminal, I’m afraid.”

Kalen let out a long-suffering sigh. “This is a clinic for actual patients.”

“I am an actual patient,” Kilian murmured from beneath the cloth. “Can’t you see what my Handsome has done to me? I’m inconsolable.”

“Is this about the interview this morning?” Isobel eyed him, pretending to look unaffected and unamused, but the pale stretch of his muscled stomach, barely revealed by his shirt riding up, kept drawing her eye.

“They asked what my haircare routine is,” Kilian wailed. “I just use whatever rich girl shit Isobel stocks her shower with.”

Theodore scribbled something on the clipboard. “This is dire. He’ll need a mimosa to stabilise. Stat.”

“I should’ve locked that minibar,” Kalen muttered.

Theodore copied Kalen’s expression a little too well, the long-suffering sigh on his lips a perfect imitation.

“I thought you were the best of the best, Mr West. He doesn’t need alcohol .

He needs to start showering in his own bathroom and leaving Isobel unattended during bathtime.

” Theodore tossed his clipboard aside before anyone could remind him of the mimosa prescription of three seconds ago.

“I absolutely refuse to work in these conditions.”

Isobel swallowed a laugh. “You have about forty-five minutes to eat something normal before Mikel does his post-lunch rounds in the group chat. And if he finds out you’re here pretending to be burnt out again … you know what will happen.”

“He’s so heartless,” Kilian whispered, eyes still covered.

“I’ll have someone bring sandwiches.” Kalen stalked to an iPad sitting on a bar cart by the door.

“That’s all I ask.” Kilian exhaled in Dying Victorian Heroine as Kalen tapped in a lunch order. “I want the good mustard this time,” he added faintly.

“There’s no mustard on any of our sandwiches,” Kalen snapped.

Isobel’s phone buzzed, and she stepped back into the shade to answer the video call.

Sophia’s face filled the screen, angled awkwardly like she was trying to corral something off-camera. “Hi,” she signed, the phone jerking slightly as she tried to lean it against something to free up her hands.

“Where are you?” Isobel asked, already smiling.

The screen wobbled, then stabilised to show Bellamy behind her, ankle-deep in hay and holding what looked suspiciously like a baby goat wearing a flower crown. “We’re in hell,” he called out.

“The barn,” Sophia signed with a grin.

“It’s the Unification festival this weekend,” Bellamy added, resigned, moving closer to the camera. “The village kids voted to include a petting zoo. Guess what’s in the petting zoo?”

“Goats?” Isobel guessed.

From offscreen came a delighted scream and the unmistakable sound of giggling children. Sophia’s eyes widened, and she signed something too fast for Isobel to follow, but Bellamy interpreted it anyway. “That was Yume’s kid trying to ride one of the goats.”