The room felt too quiet, too still, as Isla gripped her phone tightly, her heart hammering in her chest.
"You don’t know me, Isla, but I know the truth about your father."
The woman’s voice was smooth, unreadable, but there was something in her tone—something dangerous.
Isla swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
A pause.
"The person who can help you win."
Lucas, standing beside her, leaned in, his expression sharp, his body rigid with tension. He placed his hands on the desk, tilting his head slightly as if he could decipher the woman’s intentions through sheer force of will.
"How do we know you’re not working for Vincent?" Lucas asked, his voice dangerously low.
A small chuckle came through the phone. "If I were working for Vincent, do you think I’d be calling you? No, Mr. Reyes. I’m cal
