I told Isla the truth because silence had already taken more from her than Vaughn ever could have stolen with both hands.
The SUV pulled away from the sponsor dinner with cameras still flashing against the tinted windows. White bursts chased us down the hotel driveway, cutting through the dark glass in brief, violent pieces. Outside, reporters ran along the curb, shouting questions the closed doors could not fully silence.
“Isla, were you pregnant before Cade?”
“Cade, did you know?”
“Is Vaughn Harrington the father?”
“Is this why Marcus Vale left?”
Isla sat beside me in the back seat, rigid as stone, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Miranda sat in the passenger seat, one phone pressed to her ear and another glowing in her hand. The driver kept his eyes forward, jaw locked, as if
