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**Chapter 4: Secrets Beneath the Vines**
The vineyard lay quiet, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. Isabella had always found peace here, but tonight, the air felt different—charged, like a storm about to break. She had stayed longer than usual, lost in the intricate details of her painting. Yet her mind kept wandering back to Luca, to the letters he always carried, and to the invisible walls he seemed determined to keep between them.
As she packed up her supplies, she noticed the faint flicker of light coming from the stone house across the vines. Luca was there, as always. But tonight, curiosity tugged at her more insistently than ever. There was something about him—his guarded demeanor, his moments of retreat—that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a mystery. And she couldn't walk away without at least peering over the edge.
Steeling herself, Isabella crossed the rows of grapevines. The scent of ripened fruit mingled with the earthy aroma of the soil, grounding her as her heart raced. The door to the house was ajar, and she hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the golden glow of a desk lamp. Papers were scattered across the wooden desk—pages of handwritten notes mixed with rough sketches of characters and places. But it was the locked drawer that caught her eye. A bundle of letters rested atop it, tied together with a frayed ribbon. The top one bore her name in Luca's handwriting.
Isabella's pulse quickened. She reached out, her fingers grazing the edge of the ribbon, when a voice behind her stopped her cold. "You shouldn't be here."
She turned sharply, finding Luca standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of anger and something deeper—something unspoken. His green eyes were darkened, shadowed by the flickering light, and his presence filled the small room.
"I didn't mean to intrude," Isabella stammered, her voice shaking. "I just… I saw my name."
Luca's gaze dropped to the bundle of letters, his jaw tightening. For a moment, the silence between them was deafening, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Then, he stepped forward and took the letters, his hands curling around them protectively. "Some things are not meant to be shared," he said, his voice low and steady.
"But why my name?" Isabella asked, her eyes searching his face for answers. "Why are you writing about me?"
Luca hesitated, the tension in his frame palpable. Finally, he met her gaze, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "Because you're the story I can't forget."
Before she could respond, he turned and left the room, leaving Isabella standing there with her thoughts racing. The echoes of his confession lingered in the air, mingling with the scents of lavender and ink. And as she followed him out, the night sky spread above her, its stars a silent audience to the secrets still buried in the vineyard.
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