Isla Calloway’s entire world stopped.
"Hello, Isla."
Her breath hitched.
She knew that voice.
It had been decades since she had heard it—soft, elegant, with a quiet strength that had once made her feel safe.
Her mother.
Her dead mother.
Lucas stood beside her, his jaw tight, his green eyes burning with intensity as he listened in.
Isla gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. "This isn’t possible."
A soft sigh came through the line. "I know this is a shock, but you have to listen to me."
Isla’s stomach twisted violently. "Where the hell have you been?"
Silence.
Then—
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere your father and Miguel Reyes couldn’t reach me."
Lucas’s fingers curled into fists. "Where are you now?"
Another pause.
"That’s not important. What’s important is that
