Between Two Brothers

ISLA'S POV

The ticking of the office clock had become the metronome of my despair.

Six years. For two thousand, one hundred and ninety days, I had survived in the sleek, glass-and-steel corridors of the Blackthorne Group, fueled entirely by a promise that was slowly turning to ash.

In the beginning, the waiting was a fierce, living thing. I had poured my heart into letters, sealing my devotion into paper and ink. Because Victor Blackthorne monitored my digital footprint, I couldn't risk emails or direct calls. I had turned to Julian. Dare’s cousin had been my only bridge, a steady, sympathetic presence who offered to slip my letters into the secure family mail couriered to Spain.

“I’ll make sure he gets them, Isla,” Julian would always promise, his dark eyes filled with a gentle, pitying warmth as he tucked the envelopes into his breast pocket. “He’s just busy. The college there is totally different from ours. And you know how his father is.”

But Dare never replied. Not once.

The six years of silence was very brutal . I began to feel like a fool for believing a boy’s desperate midnight vow. The desire to be loved, to be seen again, hadn't vanished; it had just shifted. Slowly, agonizingly, I had begun to let Julian fill the hollow space Dare left behind. Julian was always there, offering a comforting word, a warm coffee on a freezing morning, a quiet reassurance that I wasn't alone. I hadn’t given him my heart, but I was finally letting myself lean into his carefully crafted kindness. I was giving up on a ghost.

At least my mother was free of them. Margot’s health had faltered three years ago, a warning sign from a heart worn down by decades of service. With the money I earned, I transitioned her out of the Blackthorne villa. Now, she ran a highly recognized restaurant in the heart of city. She was finally the mistress of her own kitchen, her spine,  no longer  scrubbing someone else's floors. The corporate grind was worth it because it kept my mother safe.

I arrived at the company on a brisk Tuesday morning, shaking the chill from my coat as I stepped into the elevator. I plunged straight into my daily routine—sorting quarterly performance metrics, answering high-level correspondence, and prepping briefs. I was good at my job. I had earned my place here, proving to the board that I wasn't just a charity case.

"Isla?"

I looked up from my tablet to see Victor Blackthorne’s senior executive assistant standing by my desk. Her expression was strangely guarded. "The CEO wants to see you in his office. Immediately."

A cold prickle of apprehension danced down my neck. I smoothed the fabric of my tailored trousers and followed her up to the penthouse floor.

Victor Alistair Blackthorne sat behind his monolithic mahogany desk, the skyline sprawling behind him like a kingdom he owned. He didn't look up immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to remind me of my place. When he finally raised his head, his sharp eyes softened into an expression that made my stomach instantly drop. He was smiling. It was the benevolent smile a predator gives before the strike.

"Ah, Isla. Sit, please," he said, gesturing to the leather chair opposite him.

I sat, keeping my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "Good morning, Mr. Blackthorne."

"I was just reviewing the department reports," Victor began, his tone uncharacteristically warm, almost romanticizing the years I had dedicated to his firm. "I must say, your diligence over the past six years has been exemplary. You have been respectful, quiet, and profoundly efficient. You’ve handled every task with the utmost grace, representing the Blackthorne name exactly as we hoped you would when we offered you this opportunity."

"Thank you, sir. I’ve worked hard to—"

"Which is why," Victor interrupted seamlessly, his voice remaining smooth and pleasant, "it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that your services are no longer needed. The company is restructuring, and your contract is being terminated, effective at the end of the business day."

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air straight from my lungs. The room seemed to tilt.

"I'm... I'm sorry?" I stammered, completely caught off guard. My heart began to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Sacked? Mr. Blackthorne, I don't understand. My performance reviews are flawless. If there is an issue with my recent briefs, or if there's something I can do to amend—"

"There is nothing to amend, Isla," Victor said, his faux-warmth instantly evaporating, replaced by the clinical detachment I remembered from six years ago. His mind was entirely made up. He picked up a fountain pen, effectively signaling the end of the conversation. "The decision is final. Human Resources has already prepared your severance package. You may go."

I stood up, my legs feeling like lead. I wanted to scream, to demand a real reason, to remind him of the sacrifices my mother and I had made. But looking at the rigid, unyielding line of his jaw, I knew it was useless. I was just a piece on his chessboard, and for some reason, he had decided to discard me.

I walked out of the glass office, my mind spinning in a chaotic vacuum. How would I pay for my mother’s medical checkups? How would we support the restaurant if business slowed? Why now? Why today?

"Isla!"

A hand caught my elbow as I stumbled past the floor's kitchenette. I blinked, focusing on the worried face of Thea Bennett, my best friend and the only person in this building who truly knew my soul.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Thea asked, her eyes searching my pale face. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen upstairs?"

"I... I've been fired," I whispered, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

Thea’s jaw dropped. "What? That’s impossible. You practically run that department!"

"Victor just called me in. He praised my diligence, told me how respectful I’ve been, and then told me I’m done by the end of the day." I gripped Thea’s arm, a sudden wave of panic washing over me. "Thea, did you hear anything about layoffs? Did anyone else get sacked? Is there a company-wide restructure happening?"

Thea shook her head slowly, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "No. Nothing. I haven't heard a single whisper about restructuring, and HR hasn't flagged any budget cuts. Isla... this doesn't make sense. It’s just you."

Just me.

The harsh reality solidified in my chest. This wasn't corporate restructuring. This was personal. Victor Blackthorne had given me this job to keep me away from Dare, and now, he was stripping it away.

I didn't stay to fight. I couldn't bear the pitying looks of my coworkers or the triumphant smirks of those who had always resented my presence. I walked back to my desk in a daze, the environment that had been my sanctuary and my prison for six years suddenly feeling entirely hostile.

With trembling hands, I packed my few personal belongings into a small cardboard box—a framed photo of my mother smiling outside her restaurant, a favorite pen, a notebook.

Thea stood by my side, offering quiet comfort, but the silence inside my own head was deafening. Six years of waiting for a man who never wrote back. Six years of working for a family that viewed me as a bug beneath their expensive shoes.

I carried the box through the lobby, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind me with a definitive, mocking click. The chilly air hit my face, but I barely felt it. I stood on the pavement, sullenly staring out at the grey, indifferent city, entirely blind to the storm that was about to break.