Chapter Three
I lay sprawled on the cold floor, my breath shallow, the room spinning as reality rushed back in.
My mother stood in the doorway.
Her face softened the moment our eyes met—concern carefully arranged, affection worn like a mask.
"Oh, baby," she said gently, moving toward me. "Why are you on the floor like this?"
She knelt, her gaze flicking to my legs. Blood stained my skin.
"Tsk. You're bleeding," she murmured. "I know it hurts."
Her hand brushed my arm—tender, almost loving. Anyone watching would have believed she cared.
I knew better.
"Get Ava," she said calmly to the maid who had just entered.
The girl hurried away and returned moments later with Ava—my mother's personal handmaid. The air shifted. The sweetness drained from my mother's voice.
"Now," she said, standing, "tie her."
Panic tore through me.
"Let me be, Mama!" I cried. "Please. This isn't funny."
They didn't hesitate.
Strong hands forced me into a chair. Ropes tightened around my wrists and torso until I couldn't move. My screams echoed off the walls.
"Mama!"
She didn't answer.
She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me bound, heart pounding, the silence stretching until it felt alive.
When she returned, the room felt colder.
This was my punishment.
It was always different from the others'. Always designed for me alone. Humiliating. Disturbing. Meant to break something inside me.
"You see, Isla," she said calmly, circling me, "I'm not cruel without reason. You push me. Just like your father did."
Her words were poison.
She forced me to watch—always watch—reminding me who held power, who owned the room, the house, my body, my fear. This was how she punished me. Not with pain alone, but with violation of the mind.
I shut my eyes.
It didn't matter.
She always made sure I heard everything.
Minutes later, she left the room again.
Then footsteps returned—heavier this time.
Euan.
My stomach dropped.
My mother reappeared, her composure perfect, her voice smooth. "Are you ready?" she asked him.
I screamed for her to stop.
She laughed.
No one came.
When it ended, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, like discarding something no longer useful.
"Take her back to her room," she ordered.
Euan untied me and lifted me easily, ignoring my protests. I fought weakly, exhaustion stealing what little strength I had left.
"Let me go," I sobbed.
He didn't answer.
He carried me down the hall and into my room, laying me gently on the bed. As he turned to leave, he paused.
A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.
"Revenge comes in many forms," he said quietly.
Then he was gone.
—
Madeline tended to my wounds later, her hands shaking as she cleaned the blood from my legs. I stared at the ceiling, replaying everything—my mother's voice, Euan's eyes, that single sentence he'd left behind.
Revenge.
What did he know?
Morning light spilled through the curtains, but it brought no warmth. My thoughts raced. I needed answers. I needed a phone. A way out. Something.
My mother allowed none of that.
Still, I couldn't stay still.
I forced myself up, legs weak, and made my way toward the garden.
"Euan," I called softly.
No answer.
I went farther, each step burning.
Then I saw him—standing near the hedges, speaking in low tones to a man dressed in black. I called his name again.
The stranger turned sharply.
Fear flashed across his face.
Without a word, he vaulted the wall and vanished—but not before something caught the light in his hand.
A symbol.
A serpent coiled around a crown.
My breath hitched.
"Lorenzo," I whispered.
Euan and I locked eyes.
In that moment, we both understood.
The war wasn't coming.
It was already here.
" Isla's curiosity refused to be silenced."
The symbol the man had flashed before vanishing burned behind my eyes. Lorenzo's mark. There was no mistaking it. My grip tightened on my cloths as I looked back at Euan.
"You know him," I said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Euan's jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he would deny it, retreat into the silence he wore so well. Instead, he glanced around the garden, scanning the hedges, the windows, the cameras hidden in plain sight.
"Not here," he said under his breath. "Too many eyes."
He turned away, already walking.
Anger flared in me. "You don't get to walk away from that," I snapped. "Not after what I just saw."
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned back, his expression unreadable—guarded, sharp, tired.
"You want answers?" he asked. "Then listen carefully."
I nodded.
"The man you saw," he said, lowering his voice, "is the reason I'm here."
My stomach twisted.
"He's my uncle," Euan continued. "My mother's brother. Blood."
I inhaled sharply.
"He sold me," he said flatly. "gave me out here himself. Took the money, signed the deal, and disappeared like I never existed."
The words landed heavier than any scream.
"Your mother didn't take me by chance, Isla. I was delivered."
My hands trembled. "Why?"
Euan's eyes flicked toward the main house—toward my mother's domain.
"Because Lorenzo Vitale wanted eyes inside this estate," he said. "And your mother wanted someone she thought she could break."
A cold understanding crept over me.
"You're a spy," I whispered.
"No," he said immediately. "I was meant to be one."
Silence stretched between us.
"I didn't agree to any of it," he added. "But agreement doesn't matter when your own blood sells you."
I swallowed hard. "So why tell me now?"
His gaze locked onto mine, intense, deliberate.
"Because you're not what she thinks you are," he said. "And neither am I."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
"There's more," he continued. "About Lorenzo. About your father. About why your mother keeps you locked away."
My breath caught. "Then tell me."
Euan shook his head once.
"Not here. Not like this."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"If you want the rest of the truth," he said, "you'll have to come with me."
A chill slid down my spine.
"Run away," he added.
The words felt impossible. Dangerous. Treasonous.
"Tonight," he said. "Before she moves first."
I stared at him, fear and hope colliding violently inside my chest.
"And if I don't?" I asked.
His expression hardened. "Then you'll never leave this place alive."
The garden felt suddenly smaller, the walls taller, the air thinner.
I looked back at the house—at my prison, my mother's kingdom of silence and blood.
Then back at Euan.
"Tonight," I said.
Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe. Or regret.
"Good," he replied. "Because once we leave…"
He paused.
"There's no coming back."