Isla's POV
“Isla! Isla!! Isla!!!”
Her voice pierced through the corridor like the c***k of a whip. I closed my eyes for a second, breathed in, and forced myself to stand.
I could already picture that smug smile she’d be wearing when I walked in. I smoothed down my dress, lifted my chin, and stepped into the living room.
Daphne stood in the center of the room, her hand resting lazily on Killian’s shoulder. The music played softly in the background.
“You called me?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
Daphne turned, that same painted smile plastered across her face. “Of course, sweetheart. Come join us. It’s a party, not a funeral.”
I blinked slowly. “I’m working, Daphne.”
Killian looked up from his drink. “She’s right, Isla. You’ve been on your feet all evening. Sit, relax a little.
