Chapter 1: The Wedding Night
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The pearls on my neck felt heavier than they should have.
Maybe it was the weight of the vows I’d just taken—or maybe it was the way his eyes followed me from across the ballroom. Cold. Unapologetic. Calculated.
Not my husband’s.
His.
Christopher D’Amelio.
My stepfather-in-law.
“Smile, Ivana,” Ethan whispered beside me, his hand gently grazing the small of my back. “You’re my wife now. You should be glowing.”
I smiled for the camera. For the guests. For the illusion of happiness. But every inch of my skin was crawling—not from discomfort with Ethan, but from the pressure of someone else’s gaze.
Christopher stood near the bar, alone, untouched by the warmth of champagne and congratulations. Tall, dressed in a charcoal suit that fit too perfectly, and eyes so unreadable they made me forget how to breathe. He hadn’t said more than two words to me all evening. He didn’t need to. His silence was louder than the violin quartet.
He looked like a man who regretted nothing—except maybe the fact that I was no longer out of bounds.
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Later that night, after the final guests left and the hotel suite doors closed behind us, I stood at the mirror and peeled off the white lace from my body.
Ethan lay on the bed, scrolling through his phone. “Give me a second, babe,” he said. “Just need to handle this deal. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” I whispered.
I didn’t mind.
I was used to being invisible.
I sat at the edge of the bed, watching the city lights flicker below. Somewhere, maybe just miles from here, Christopher was probably in a similar suite—drinking in silence, judging me for marrying a man I barely knew.
And for a moment, I wondered…
If I had met him first, what would’ve changed?
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Flashback – The First Meeting
Two weeks before the wedding, Ethan took me to the D’Amelio estate. It was like walking into a cathedral of secrets—glass chandeliers, long dark corridors, cold marble floors that echoed too much.
“He’s not exactly warm,” Ethan warned. “But he’s brilliant. Built everything from nothing after his father died.”
The door to Christopher’s study opened slowly, and there he stood—towering, sharp-jawed, with greying temples and a voice like winter rain.
“So you’re the girl,” he said, looking me over. “Pretty. But naive.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You have soft eyes,” he continued. “Soft eyes don’t survive in this family. I hope Ethan warned you.”
“Warned me about what?”
He turned away before answering. “About who I am.”
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Back to the Present
Ethan fell asleep with the TV on. I turned it off and walked to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror—bare, raw, exposed.
Was I really a bride?
Or just a placeholder in a story I didn’t write?
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
I hesitated. Then opened the message.
> “Your husband doesn’t deserve you. But maybe that’s what he wanted—someone he could keep untouched.”
My heart dropped.
I didn’t have to guess.
I knew exactly who sent it.
And the worst part?
I didn’t feel fear.
I felt seen.
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Chapter 46 —Beneath the boardThe night did not bring peace. Not to Isla. Not to the house that still held too many echoes of her mother’s silence. The rain had softened into a hush by midnight, but inside the walls, the weight of memory still pressed down like an invisible fog.She had tried to sleep. Curled under the same floral quilt that had once brought her comfort as a child, she had closed her eyes and listened for calm—but her thoughts refused to quiet.Elena’s face haunted her. Not as she’d last seen it, sick and pale, but younger—laughter in her eyes, rebellion in her smile. Victor’s words had painted the woman she used to be with strokes so vivid, Isla felt like she’d never really known her mother at all.At 3:14 a.m., Isla rose. She lit the lamp by the window and padded barefoot across the old wooden floor. The room had changed little since she left for college. Faded posters, a stuffed bear on the bookshelf, her name still etched in the corner of the dresser drawer.She p
Chapter 45 — Her ShadowsVictor didn’t sit. He leaned against the potting table, eyes on the wilting petals of the orchid he’d trimmed minutes ago. It felt like time had stopped moving in this room. The rain outside kept falling, but neither of them could hear it now.Isla waited. Not because she was patient—she wasn’t—but because she needed to hear the truth fall from his lips. Not written. Not hinted. Just spoken, like a confession he’d owed her all along.“I met Elena when she was nineteen,” Victor finally said, voice low, worn thin with memory. “Your grandfather hired me for private security work. She hated me on sight.”Isla folded her arms. “That doesn’t surprise me.”Victor gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She called me arrogant. Said I had no business watching over her like she was some prize to be guarded. But she was already deep into things her family didn’t want to see.”“Like what?” Isla asked.“Politics. Rebellion. Secrets. Your mother was always drawn to
Chapter 44 — The Letter She Shouldn't Have FoundThe storm outside hadn’t relented, and neither had the one in Isla’s chest. Thunder cracked the sky like it was splitting open secrets of its own. In her mother’s old bedroom—the one no one had touched since her passing—Isla stood barefoot, holding the yellowed letter that had just undone everything she thought she knew.She hadn’t come in here looking for truth. She came because sleep wouldn’t hold her, because her mother’s perfume still clung faintly to the wardrobe door, and because something had pulled her there. Fate, maybe. Or ghosts.The envelope had no name. Just a date from over two decades ago—before Isla was born. But the handwriting, the looping, graceful strokes, were unmistakably her mother’s.She read it again.> My dearest Victor,I still hear your voice when the world goes quiet. I still taste your kiss when I close my eyes. I should hate you, I should wish you gone, but I can’t. You live in me.I fear what this secret
Chapter 43 – Fractured ReflectionsThe clock ticked in the background, the only sound in the room as Isla stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a shadow across her face, highlighting the lines of weariness that had begun to settle in. She had always been so careful, so controlled. But now, the pieces of her life, of who she was, were splintering.Victor’s letter. Christopher’s distance. Her own conflicted heart. It felt like the whole world was unraveling, and she was trapped in the middle of it, unable to break free.She traced her fingers over the cold glass, as if seeking some comfort from the woman she had been. But there was no comfort to be found in that reflection. The woman staring back at her wasn’t the one she had once known. She didn’t recognize the way her eyes had lost their light, the way the corners of her lips turned downward with each passing day.Her mother’s words rang in her head: “You cannot hide from yourself, Isla.”The
Chapter 42 – Where the Silence WaitsThe night in the Kane estate felt colder than usual, though the fireplace in Isla’s room still burned softly. Shadows danced along the walls, whispering secrets only the darkness understood. Isla sat at the edge of her bed, the worn envelope clutched tightly in her hand. It had been tucked behind a drawer in the attic, hidden away like something shameful.She hadn’t opened it yet.Something inside her wasn’t ready. Maybe it was fear—fear that the words inside would mirror her own feelings. Or worse, that they’d reflect everything she didn’t want to admit.Christopher had been distant these past few days. He lingered in the study, spoke less, touched her only when she reached for him first. But when he did, his grip said more than words ever could. He was slipping too, caught in a past neither of them fully understood.Isla stood and paced the room. Her breath came faster than it should, her fingers trembling slightly as she tore open the envelope.
---Chapter 41 – Fragments of the PastThe house was quiet, too quiet.Isla stood in the hallway of the manor, her hand resting on the banister that had once seemed too grand for her small palms as a child. Dust clung to the edges of the floorboards, and the scent of old paper and forgotten memories lingered in the air. Something had shifted inside her since uncovering the letters. They hadn't just been correspondence between old lovers—they were pieces of her mother’s soul, carefully folded and hidden.Now, she couldn’t stop seeing her mother’s face in a different light. Not just as the woman who’d raised her, but as a woman who had once loved deeply, desperately, and perhaps... recklessly.Victor Kane.That name, once a ghost Isla avoided, had become an obsession. The letters spoke of him not just as a man, but as a tempest. A savior, a destroyer. And something inside her ached at the familiarity in his words—how easily they echoed the ones whispered to her in the dark by Christophe
Chapter 50: The Red Room ReturnsThe facility was buried beneath an abandoned psychiatric hospital in the outskirts of Marlowe. Cold, metallic, and eerily silent. The only sound was the hum of generators buried beneath layers of concrete. Isla stood at the entrance to the Red Room, a door marked with faded letters and smeared fingerprints—as if the ghosts of its past occupants had tried to claw their way out.She inhaled deeply. Her palms were sweaty despite the chill in the air. Her fingers brushed over the transmitter embedded in her collarbone, a tiny device Ethan had inserted the night before."You hearing me?" she whispered."Loud and clear," Ethan's voice came through the earpiece. "Christopher's tracking your position. Stay sharp."She pushed the door open.Inside, the Red Room was exactly as she'd feared: clean, clinical, and laced with hidden horrors. The walls were padded, but beneath the padding she saw the outlines of old restraints, bloodstains carefully painted over. In
Chapter 49: The Red RoomPart 2The house was quiet again, but it was no longer peaceful. The silence wrapped around Isla like a noose, drawing tighter with each breath.She stared at the scattered contents of the "Project Lyra" folder. Diagrams of brain scans, personality overlays, pain tolerance experiments. Pages marked with observations like:"Subject shows strong response to maternal visuals.""Behavioral correction through sensory deprivation achieved moderate success.""Mirror empathy nearly complete—98.7% personality alignment."She felt her throat close. Victor hadn’t raised her to be loved—he had raised her to reflect.“Do you think I’m still her?” she asked suddenly, her voice brittle. “Am I still Isla? Or just… Lyra’s second coming?”Christopher came to her then, kneeling before her, eyes dark and intense. “You are you, Isla. You survived his programming. You still question. That alone proves it. If you were just an echo, you wouldn’t be trembling right now. You wouldn’t b
Chapter 49: The Red RoomThe air turned metallic the moment the lights flickered out.Isla’s breath caught as the hallway swallowed her in darkness. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of old wiring, like the heartbeat of the Nest itself. She called out for Ethan.No answer.She moved, hand gliding along the cold stone wall, pulse racing with every step. Then a sharp click echoed behind her. She turned quickly.Nothing.Her phone buzzed—just once—before the screen cracked and died in her hand. The last thing she saw was a single message.“RUN.”But she didn’t run. Not yet.She wasn’t the same girl who had run from the truth. Not the same girl who once thought pain was weakness. Now, pain was proof—of love, of loss, of a past that refused to stay buried.She moved toward the back of the house where they had stored the remaining files and weapons. As she passed one of the metal doors, she noticed something that hadn’t been there before.A red glow beneath it.Victor had activ