Chapter 26

Thank God they weren’t heading back to the Blackwood Estate. That’s the only silver lining. I didn’t need Drew’s smug, annoying face anywhere near my personal hellscape or his mother’s.

The last time I saw him was right after Nadia’s funeral and I promised myself then I wouldn’t grace his infuriating presence ever again.

I hated that family.

All of them.

And the fact that he had something going on with Beatrice, my twin, my mirror, my stranger made my skin crawl.

Who was she really?

Because honestly, if you have a husband like Alex and still find time to roll around with his good-for-nothing stepbrother? You deserve your own Lifetime crime special.

And then it hit me.

I didn’t even ask the name of my other sibling. The one that doesn’t look like me.

What kind of person am I?

After hanging out with Candice, I stepped outside into the unholy heat of New York, only to find Orbot already waiting.

He was chilling in the car, thank God. Not under the sun, obviously. I mean, let’s not get dramatic.

Anyway, he opened the door, and I hesitated.

Because the truth was—I didn’t want to go back.

Back to that mansion that echoed too loudly. Back to a house full of few servants I couldn’t talk to.

And Lucy? Gone.

The house had never really recovered since Nadia’s death. Fewer staff. More whispers. Still talk of her allegedly killing herself. Hanging herself.

That kind of thing doesn’t just fade away. It lingers. Like the scent of something rotten beneath all the luxury.

And me? I just wanted to know where Lucy lived. I wanted to talk to her. She was the only one who spoke to me like I was me.

I hadn’t even gone to see my mom.

And the thought of sitting across from that man—the one who called himself my father—felt like voluntarily stabbing myself with a rusty fork.

So instead… I ran.

From the truth.

From Alex.

Because after what happened that night the way we kissed, touched, almost—I couldn’t face him.

And he hadn’t faced me either.

He left early in the morning. I saw him through the window, flanked by his bodyguard, dressed sharp as ever.

Off to work. Like nothing had happened.

Like I didn’t almost let him take my soul with him.

So yeah, that was cool.

He wasn’t being a total asshole.

But something was changing.

And I wasn’t ready to admit what it was.

Heading to my room felt like a never-ending chore.

Same routine. Same walls. Same silence.

Made me realize I really didn’t have much going on in my life.

Hang out with Candice. Come back home.

Repeat.

I needed to do something.

I needed answers.

I needed… change.

And that’s when I noticed it… again.

More guards. A lot more than usual.

It had started after Nadia’s death, but now it hit me harder.

They were here because of Beatrice probably to catch her if she comes trying to hang someone again.

And as if her name summoned something—my phone rang.

Unknown number.

“Hello? Who is this?” I asked, not even letting the person say a word first. I was not in the mood for anything shady.

“Um, hello… my dear.”

A man’s voice. Smooth. Steady. And unmistakable.

The same voice I remembered from the day Alex introduced me to him.

My so-called father.

“I’d really like to see you.”

I wanted to say no. I really did.

But part of me also really wanted to say yes.

It was… confusing.

“Are you with your husband?” he asked.

“No. My husband is—”

Ugh. The word husband stuck to my tongue like cheap glue.

Like, what the hell is this man even playing at?

If I’m married to Alex—and his daughter Beatrice was also married to Alex—does he seriously believe any of this is real?

He has to know this whole marriage setup is a facade, right?

Right?

“I’m at the Castro,” he cut in casually, like he hadn’t just thrown my brain into a spin. “I’d really like to hang out with my daughter, if you wouldn’t mind. You’re an adult.”

I frowned. “You won’t even see my mother first? You just want to hang out with me?”

He laughed softly.

Ugh. That laugh. It reminded me of Alex calm, calculated, arrogant.

“I’ve seen her,” he said.

And just like that, my heart froze.

“You’ve seen Mother?” I asked, trying not to let my voice crack.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m just coming from the Blackwood hospital.”

My heart began to race.

“So you two are fine? Settled?”

“How about we just hang out, my dear?” he said, dodging my question like a pro. “I want to get to know you better.”

“I’ll think about it—”

“be at the Castro by seven,” he interrupted.

I blinked. “I really don’t think Alex would approve.”

“Oh, Alex would definitely approve, my darling,” he said smoothly and then he hung up.

What the actual hell?

How did he get my number?

And who does he even think he is? Just because he’s rich? Just waltzes into my life now and wants to bond over fancy drinks?

But then again…

I really wanted to see my sister. The one that doesn’t look like me.

If that makes any sense.

What the hell is even going on?

By the time I finished showering, it was already after five. I picked out a pale pink floral dress and swept my hair into a high bun. A little mascara, a little gloss. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but still.

Orbot confirmed the location and drove me there.

The Castro was close to the estate

a golf club, basically. One of those posh places where rich men smoked cigars, talked mistresses and mergers, and drank thousand-dollar whiskey like water.

When we got there, the place was packed. Expensive cars lined up like a showroom. A fluffy white dog yapped from one of the patios nearby. I swear, if that dog had teeth, I might’ve stuck my finger in its mouth just to shut it up.

Security checked us at the gate, and Orbot walked me inside before silently slipping away like a true professional.

The laughter inside hit me first. That deep, bassy, expensive kind of laughter. The kind only men who’ve eaten beef their entire lives and made money off others’ pain could produce.

I was now being being directed by a worker as

We walked through a dim hallway into an open area that overlooked the darkened golf course. After six and already nightfall—New York spring evenings could be tricky like that.

To the left, there was a sort-of open bar. Not quite a bar. More like a lounging section for men and their wives, CEOs and investors, the kinds of people who closed billion-dollar deals between sips of cognac and gossip about other billionaires.

“Isla,” came that familiar deep voice.

The male worker directing me, gave a polite nod and vanished into the shadows.

My father guided me to a small table near a brown lamp glowing over a large flat-screen TV, currently playing a muted football match. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair—he was in suit pants and a button-down now, no tie, just the crisp air of a man who’d been closing deals all day and still had charm to spare.

I noticed he was toned from underneath his dress-shirt. No saggy belly in sight,

“Would you care for anything?” he asked.

“No, just water,” I replied.

“Are you sure?” he smiled.

And for a second… I saw it.

The reason my mother might’ve fallen for him.

He was undeniably handsome.

In that powerful, clean, expensive way.

And I was suddenly more nervous than I’d expected.

I confirmed I was sure, and we sat down just as a young man probably around my age walked up to us in server attire, the crest of the golf course embroidered on his lapel. He had full, thick dreads tied back and a bright smile that felt almost too warm for the sharp chill between me and the man beside me.

He dropped a bottle of sparkling water on the table, bowing slightly before walking away.

I watched him go, anything to distract me from what Joseph—yes, Joseph, not “father”—was about to say.

He started talking, and like a tape set on loop, he dove into the story.

He said he’d visited my mother. That he’d thought about her. That he’d wanted to see me.

But his version had a polished ring to it.

Like he’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror, convincing himself he was still the good guy in this story.

He talked about life how complicated it gets. How people make mistakes.

How love isn’t always enough.

I cut in.

“You made her fall for you. Completely. Head over heels. And then you left her like she was nothing.”

He blinked.

Like I’d just popped his carefully crafted illusion.

He looked at me, stunned. “You’re wrong about that, Isla.”

He leaned forward, voice lower now. “I never left her.”

Oh really?

Then came the guilt-rub.

The soft, tragic backstory to cushion the truth.

His wife the one before my mother—had died. Breast cancer, he said. A cruel ending for a good woman.

Oh yeah a good woman that tried killing my mum in her sleep.

And suddenly I didn’t know how to feel. I should’ve felt sad for him. I should’ve cared.

But I couldn’t.

Not when he’d made my mother feel like an option.

Before I could process all that, a voice sharp and shrill called out from behind.

A woman’s voice. Familiar. Too familiar.

Joseph turned his back to the direction of the sound immediately, but I was still staring at my bottle of water, heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

That voice. I knew it. I knew it.

“And Isla,” Joseph added quickly, like trying to cover it up with casual conversation, “I wanted you to meet your sister, Celeste—”

“Oh, Daddy, you don’t have to,” the voice interrupted smoothly. “We’ve already met.”

My head snapped up.

No.

No.

Standing there, confident as sin, in a cream satin dress and strappy heels, was celeste.

My sister?

My eyes went wide, heartbeat catching in my throat.

And then—

Walking just a few steps behind her, like some damn supermodel who fell out of a high-end Calvin-Klein magazine….. was Alex.

Not in the same suit from this morning. A new one.

Tailored. Black. Elegant.

His hair slicked back, eyes cool and unreadable, jaw sharp enough to slice through the tension now choking the air.

Alex?

With her?

Celeste… my sister?

The floor beneath me might as well have cracked wide open.