Isla's POV
Julian Cross looks exactly like my father.
Same dark hair, same sharp jawline, same piercing blue eyes. For a moment, I can't breathe. It's like seeing a ghost.
He stands when we enter, his smile warm. Isla. My God, you're beautiful. You look just like your mother.
I don't know what to say. I've never met this man, but his face is achingly familiar.
Damien's hand lands on my lower back—possessive, protective. Mr. Cross. This is unexpected.
Is it? My niece just turned eighteen. I thought it was time we met. Julian's smile doesn't reach his eyes when he looks at Damien. Unless you've been keeping her isolated intentionally.
I've been protecting her from opportunists.
Interesting word choice. Julian pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit. Please, Isla. I promise I don't bite.
I glance at Damien, who nods tightly. We sit across from Julian, and the tension in the room is thick enough to cut.
I'm sorry we haven't met before, Julian says, his voice gentle. Your father and I had a falling out years ago. My fault, mostly. I made some poor financial decisions that he couldn't forgive.
At least he's honest about it. That's more than I can say for Damien lately.
But when I heard about the accident, about you being alone... Julian's eyes actually look sad. I wanted to come back. Be there for you. But by the time I returned to the States, Damien had already taken guardianship.
The will named me specifically, Damien says coldly.
Convenient, wasn't it? Your business partner dies, and you suddenly control his daughter and his company shares. Julian leans forward. Tell me, Blackwood, did you plan that?
Get out.
I have a court order allowing me to visit my niece. You can't throw me out.
Damien's hand tightens on my back. I can feel the violence barely contained in him.
It's okay, I say quickly, before this explodes. I want to hear what he has to say.
Isla—
Please, Damien. I meet his eyes. Just let me talk to my uncle.
For a moment, I think he'll refuse. Then he stands abruptly. Five minutes. I'll be right outside.
After he leaves, Julian's demeanor shifts. Less warm uncle, more calculating businessman.
He's terrified of losing control of you, Julian observes. Why do you think that is?
Because he's protective.
Is he? Or is he protecting something else? Julian slides a folder across the table. I've been doing some research. Digging into your trust fund, your parents' estate. And I found some interesting irregularities.
Like what?
Like two million dollars transferred offshore one week after your parents died. Like insurance payouts that were approved suspiciously fast. Like a police investigation that closed almost immediately, despite evidence of mechanical tampering.
My blood runs cold. What are you saying?
I'm saying the accident that killed your parents wasn't an accident. And Damien knows more than he's telling you.
It's too close to what the anonymous texter said. Too close to the note I found.
Why are you telling me this?
Because you deserve the truth. Because I failed your father, but I won't fail you. Julian's eyes are sincere. I'm petitioning the court to review your guardianship. Not to take you away, but to make sure you're safe. That you're not being manipulated.
Damien wouldn't
Wouldn't he? Julian leans back. Think about it, Isla. He's isolated you for six years. Controlled your every move. Eliminated anyone who got too close. That's not protection. That's possession.
The words echo Harper's warning from last night. And my own doubts.
I need to think about this.
Of course. I'm staying at the Plaza if you need me. Julian stands, then pauses. One more thing. Has Damien ever told you why your father named him guardian? Why he trusted him with you?
No.
Maybe you should ask. Because the man your father knew and the man raising you might be very different people.
After Julian leaves, I sit alone in the sitting room, my mind racing.
Damien appears in the doorway. What did he say?
That you're hiding things. That the accident wasn't an accident. That I should ask why my father trusted you. I stand, facing him. So I'm asking. Why DID my father name you my guardian?
Because we were partners. Friends.
Were you? Or were you something else?
Damien's jaw clenches. What did Julian tell you?
That there are irregularities in my trust. That the investigation closed too fast. That you might have had something to do with my parents' deaths.
And you believe him?
I don't know what to believe anymore! I shout. You won't tell me the truth. Julian says you're hiding things. Someone's sending me anonymous messages. Everyone's lying to me, and I can't—
My voice breaks. Tears I've been holding back finally spill over.
Damien crosses to me in two strides, pulling me against his chest. Don't cry. Please, don't cry.
Then tell me the truth, I sob into his shirt. Please, Damien. Just tell me what's going on.
His arms tighten around me. For a long moment, we stand there, and I can feel his heart pounding as hard as mine.
I can't, he finally whispers. Not yet. Not until I know you're safe.
Safe from what?
From people who want to hurt you. Use you. Destroy everything I've built to protect you.
I pull back, looking up at him. Or destroy everything you've built for yourself?
The accusation lands. I see it in his eyes.
Maybe both, he admits quietly. Maybe I'm protecting you and myself. Maybe I'm selfish and possessive and wrong. But I swear to you, Isla—I would never hurt you. Never.
Then let me make my own choices. Let me investigate my parents' deaths if I want to. Let me see Julian if I choose to.
No.
Why not?
Because— He stops, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking. Because I can't lose you. And letting you go, letting you make choices that might take you away from me, is the same as losing you.
The confession hangs between us, raw and honest.
That's not love, Damien. That's control.
I know. He cups my face with both hands. I know what I am. What this is. But I can't change it. I can't let you go, even knowing I should.
Before I can respond, his phone rings. He answers it, his face going hard.
When? ...I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't let anyone in or out. He hangs up and looks at me. I have to go to the office. Emergency.
What kind of emergency?
Someone leaked confidential information to the press. It's going to be all over the news in an hour. He heads for the door, then stops. Stay in the house. Don't talk to Julian. Don't answer unknown numbers. Promise me.
Damien
Promise me, Isla!
Fine. I promise.
After he leaves, the mansion feels too quiet. Too big.
I go upstairs to my room, my mind spinning. Everything Julian said, everything in that note, the anonymous messages—it all points to the same thing.
Damien is hiding something about my parents' deaths.
And I need to know what.
My shattered phone sits on my nightstand where Damien left it. I could get a new one from Elias, but Damien would just track that too.
Then I remember—Harper's old phone. She left it here last month after upgrading. Said I could use it as a backup.
I dig through my drawer and find it, still charged. I turn it on and immediately text Harper.
Can you come over? Need to talk. Use the back entrance so Damien's security doesn't see you.
Her response is immediate: OMW. 20 minutes.
While I wait, I pace my room, trying to make sense of everything.
The pieces are there, I just can't see the pattern yet.
Harper arrives exactly twenty minutes later, slipping in through the garden entrance like we're teenagers sneaking out.
Okay, this is very spy movie, she says, slightly breathless. What's going on?
I tell her everything. The messages. The note. Julian. The trust fund irregularities.
Harper's face grows more serious with each revelation. Isla, this is serious. If Damien really did have something to do with your parents' deaths—
I don't know if he did. That's the problem. I don't know what's true anymore.
Then we find out. Harper pulls out her laptop. My cousin works for a private investigation firm. We can hire him to look into the accident, into Damien, into everything.
That feels like a betrayal.
More of a betrayal than him potentially murdering your parents?
The words hit hard. She's right.
Okay. Let's do it.
Harper makes the call while I stand at my window, watching the sunset paint the sky orange and pink.
Somewhere out there, someone knows the truth. Someone's been sending me messages, pushing me toward answers.
But why? What do they want?
My new burner phone buzzes. Unknown number.
Good girl. You're finally asking the right questions. But be careful—Damien's watching closer than you think. Check under your bed. Left side. You'll find a tracking device. He's been monitoring your every move. Even in your own room.
My stomach drops.
I end the call with Harper and drop to my knees, reaching under my bed.
My fingers close around something small and metal.
I pull it out.
It's a tiny GPS tracker, no bigger than a coin.
Harper kneels beside me, her face pale. Oh my God.
He's been tracking me. Even in my bedroom. The violation makes me sick. What else has he been monitoring?
Harper checks my laptop, my desk, my closet.
She finds two more devices. One in my bookshelf. One hidden in the air vent.
Isla, this is insane. This is—this is abuse. You need to get out of here.
I can't. He'll find me. He always finds me.
Then we make him think you're still here while we investigate. Harper's eyes are fierce. We play his game. Act normal. But we dig for the truth.
I look at the tracking devices in my palm.
Damien's been watching me. Controlling me. Lying to me.
And I'm going to find out why.