Chapter Eleven
1346 Words
Chapter Eleven
The mansion was quieter than usual. Even the air seemed tense, like it had overheard something it shouldn’t have.
Isla sat on the edge of her bed, the mysterious woman’s words still echoing in her skull.
"What do you really know about your husband-to-be?"
She hadn’t been able to sleep. Not after hearing that name—Marla Devine.
She’d memorized it, let it carve itself into the back of her mind like a scar. The woman hadn’t said much else, only that she should start there. That if she truly wanted the truth, she'd have to be brave enough to stomach it.
And then the woman had vanished, like mist at sunrise.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”
Lilian’s voice cracked through the silence as she leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes filled with accusation.
“You followed me?” Isla asked, blinking back the storm rising in her chest.
“No, but I knew you would go. And I knew you wouldn’t tell me. I just—” Lilian sighed, stepping closer, “I don’t like this. These riddles. These strangers. That woman could’ve hurt you.”
“She didn’t,” Isla replied, quieter than before.
“But she could have,” Lilian snapped. “And you keep doing this thing where you chase danger like it’s some kind of antidote to boredom. I know you’re drowning in this engagement, but you’re not invincible, Isla.”
Isla met her best friend’s gaze and something unspoken passed between them. An ache. A worry too old to be new.
“I need to know what I’m getting into,” Isla whispered. “If there’s something dark about Adrian... I can’t be blindsided.”
“Then tell him that. Not some ghost in an alleyway.”
But Isla couldn’t. Because part of her already suspected Adrian wasn’t as clean as he seemed.
And part of her—an aching, aching part—kept thinking about Cassian. The way he’d looked at her across the governor’s reception like he knew her better than she wanted to be known.
Like he remembered everything.
Like he still loved her.
————
Meanwhile, across the estate, Cassian stood in his private quarters, cigarette half-burned between his fingers. He hadn’t smoked in months. But tonight, it was the only thing that kept his hands from shaking.
He knew she’d gone out. He’d seen the car, tracked it on instinct. But he didn’t follow her.
He just couldn’t.
Because if he saw her meet someone else, heard her ask about Adrian, saw that flicker of doubt in her eyes—it would destroy him. And he was already balancing on the edge of too much.
Julian, arrived shortly after dawn, darkening the doorway of Cassian's room.
“Your brother wants answers,” Julian said smoothly, not bothering with pleasantries.
Cassian barely looked up. “About what?” he drawled dryly.
“Isla went somewhere last night. Alone and she’s not talking. And Adrian wants to know who she met and why.” Julian has never been one to beat around the bush.
He could be charming when he wanted but it was on rare occasions.
Cassian’s smirk was all teeth. “Funny, considering he barely talks to her unless it's about press releases or ring fittings.” he drew a dramatic pause, his forehead furrowing. “How many fittings has it been already?”
Julian didn’t laugh. “Don’t test him.”
“I’m not,” Cassian said, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “I’m just wondering why he’s so interested all of a sudden considering the fact he practically warned me not to go anywhere near his finanè.”
The last word left a bad taste in Cassian's mouth and he inwardly grimaced.
Julian stepped forward, voice dropping low. “Because someone knows. And if Isla finds out before Adrian can spin it—everything falls apart.”
Cassian’s smile faded. He stood up slowly, towering.
“What falls apart, Julian?” he asked.
Julian hesitated, his eyes shadowing with something dark and unreadable. “Start with Marla Devine.”
Cassian’s blood ran cold.
And Isla’s name whispered in the back of his mind like a promise.
He didn’t know what she was about to uncover. But he knew one thing:
Adrian wasn’t ready.
And neither was she.
****
The morning light was unforgiving and came with a bang.
Isla sat at her make-up table, phone in hand, fingers hovering above the screen. Marla Devine. Who was she? What did she mean to Adrian?
Blowing out a tired breath, she stood and walked out of her room, her phone tightly clutched in her hands.
But the moment she stepped out, she ran into the one person she had been avoiding since her stay at the Calloway's estate.
“Isla Ravenwood," a sharp shrill voice laced with authority and confidence called her.
Isla's back went rigid, her eyes widening in their sockets.
She briefly squeezed her eyes shut, muttered a quick curse under her breath before she turned with a bright smile on her lips. “Mrs. Calloway,” she beamed. “Good morning.”
The woman in front of her was already fully decked in an expensive-looking pantsuit, her blonde hair was carefully styled and accentuated her sharp features and the string of pearls around her neck was nearly blinding anyone within an inch of her.
And yes of course, she got another lip filler.
Mrs. Irena Calloway ran a distasteful and unimpressed gaze down Isla's body, her eyes a dark mask of judgement.
“You are just waking up?” she inquired even though Isla knew it wasn't a question. “You look terrible.”
Suddenly feeling self conscious, Isla took a small step back. She had woken up more than two hours ago but leave it for a plastic Botox doll to shame a woman who chooses not to wear makeup in the wee hours of the day.
“I had a rough night," she tried explaining.
Mrs. Calloway frowned—or whatever her botox enhanced face allowed her to do. “That's interesting," she murmured. “Considering the fact that Adrian told me you fell asleep early.”
Isla's heart skipped a beat. Wait, what?
She scoffed out a tiny anxious laugh. “Oh, yeah. The governor's reception wore me out I guess."
Mrs. Calloway 's face remained blank. “You barely did anything."
Isla's lips pressed into a thin line. Of course.
Mrs. Calloway 's gaze remained fixated on her face for some minutes before she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You really should step up, Isla. You would become a Calloway soon and your lack of enthusiasm and laziness wouldn't be tolerated.”
The anger began to slowly rise in Isla's chest. Laziness? How dare she call her lazy when she had been the one who had convinced her father to pull her out of her position at the company with the claim that she would become distracted once she became Adrian's wife.
Finding the courage, Isla opened her mouth to set the record straight but the woman was already brushing past her leaving a trail of very expensive perfume in her wake.
Isla gazed after her, her chest tightening. She should really go back to her apartment today because it was clear she wasn't welcome here. Sighing, she took a step forward when her phone buzzed.
Frowning, she looked down at the screen and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
It was the result of the intensive investigation she had pulled last night.
Marla Devine.
A name once buried in the footnotes of Calloway Enterprises history. A woman declared missing ten years ago. A scandal swept neatly under the rug.
Last seen...
Connected to Adrian Calloway.
And right there, in a faded photograph, Adrian’s hand rested on her waist. Smiling. Young. Beautiful.
Her heart beat like a war drum.
And then her phone buzzed.
No name. Just two words:
"Dig deeper."
- Writer
