Everything pressed down so hard on Isla’s chest that it smothered her. She sat there, holding the edge of the desk, looking at the truth spread out in front of her.
Ethan was not the son of Richard Lancaster.
Her mother was stuck in a lie. And Richard? He had known. He had used it.
The pieces fell into place like a cruel puzzle, one that served one purpose, to control, to manipulate, to bind her mother to him with a secret too dangerous to expose.
She could hear her own pulse racing.
“He’s been lying to us our whole lives,” she whispered.
Damien didn’t speak. He just watched her, waiting.
She laughed bitterly, but there was nothing funny about any of this.
“Of course he has. That’s what he does.”
Silence hung between them, dense with unspoken things.
Isla's fingers curled into f
