Chapter 43

Chapter 43: The Man Behind the Mask

The city was another monster at night—glittering glass teeth, neon-colored veins pulsating with power, hiding rot beneath the ugliness. Isla rested against Ethan's floor-length window, watching the streets below with eyes no longer innocent.

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The truth from the estate had not worn off. If anything, it had intensified with the passage of time. Her mother's secret had changed everything.

She had thought Victor Kane was just cruel—a control freak in love. But she saw the whole mosaic now. He had been duped. Her mother's child might not have been his. And Isla? She wasn't even sure where she belonged in the twisted twigs of her family tree anymore.

A quiet thrum of jazz came from the corner speaker. Ethan came out of the kitchen, putting the glass of wine down next to her. His gaze held on her face, taking in the tough lines that had softened none. 

"No, your hands aren't shaking," he whispered.

"No, my hands are," she replied without looking at him.

Ethan propped against the glass next to her. "You need rest."

"I need truth.

A moment passed. The only sound was ice clinking against glass.

Then Ethan spoke—low and measured. "Do you want to know what Victor has up his sleeve next?"

She turned to him. "You know?"

He nodded. "I've been watching him longer than you think. He's not abandoning this. He's recruiting people—old acquaintances, rough ones. He wants to recreate what he lost. And you…" He paused. "You're the key."

Why?" she demanded. "Because I look like my mother?"

"No," he replied.

"Because you remind him of the only woman who ever left."

The weight of the words fell into her chest like a boulder.

"And Christopher?" she whispered.

Ethan hesitated. "He's moving deeper into Victor's domain. Whatever was good in him—Victor is burning it out."

She swallowed hard. "He wasn't always like that."

"No. But love corrupts people. And so does pain.

The wine soured on her tongue. Isla stood up, pacing the room. Memories swirled through her mind—Christopher's arms, his lying, how he held her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She had believed him. Once.

She wasn't certain that she did anymore.

"I need to see him," she panted. "Alone."

Ethan stepped forward, bristled. "That's not safe. You have no idea what he can do now.".

"I do. I've watched what love and grief can twist a person into."

He grasped her wrist, but not tightly. "Then let me accompany you. Let me have your back."

Her words trembled. "I don't know who I can even trust anymore."

His grip eased, but his face did not. "Then trust that I care enough not to leave you facing a wolf with your back turned."

She remained silent.

Instead, she turned back to the window again. In the street below, a car edged to the curb—a black car she knew only too well.

Victor Kane had arrived.

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Downstairs – Kane's Arrival

The doorman of the building had not frightened him off. Victor's arrival was both enthralling, terrifying. He moved as one who was used to the power of mastery and the thrill of its return.

Ethan had already gained access to the elevator. Isla stood by the apartment door, her heart pounding.

She should have been afraid. But fear had grown long ago into something else. Something cruel. Something defiant.

When the knock came, it was light—teasing, as a hunter with its prey.

She opened the door.

Victor stood there in black tailored, hair silvered at the edges, eyes unreadable. He looked at her as if she were art—and his property.

Ishaundra did not blink. "I'm not her."

"No," he said, advancing uninvited. "You're much more deadly. You have her beauty… and your father's fires."

The door closed behind him.

"My real father," Isla said, "is not you.".

Victor laughed. "Ah. You discovered the journal." 

She didn't respond.

He paced the room, touching things carefully—her glass of wine, a dropped scarf, the keys on the table. "I was upset when she left me. But I didn't kill her, Isla. You have to see that."

"Then who did?"

He spun around, eyes darker than night. "The truth has layers. Removing one doesn't mean you have found the center."

She crossed her arms. "Then give me the rest."

He moved closer, a shadow dancing fire.

"She left me for a lie. The man she fled to—he was not any better than myself. Worse, even. He exploited her. And then when she tried to come back, it was too late. She was shattered. And I…," he turned away. "I did not know how to love something already broken.".

Isla shivered with a quiver. Not because of his words—but because part of her knew that they were true.

Victor's hand hovered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "You can do it, Isla. You can reclaim it all—glory, family, legacy."

She gazed at him. "You mean control."

He leaned in close, his breath warm on her skin. "Control is survival."

There was a movement, and Ethan was in the room.

"Your time's up," he said in an icy voice.

Victor turned, smiling faintly. “Ah, the loyal dog.”

Ethan didn’t rise to it. “Leave. Now.”

Victor’s eyes lingered on Isla. “I’ll be waiting, little flame. When you’re ready to see the whole picture.”

And then he was gone.

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Aftermath – Isla’s Inner War

The room felt colder without him, but the weight he left behind remained. Isla collapsed onto the couch, trembling.

Ethan knelt beside her. “You okay?”

She looked at him. "No. And I don't think I will be for a long, long time."

He smoothed her hair back against his forehead. "You don't have to be strong tonight. Just be here. With me."

For the first time in a very, very long time, Isl

a cried.

Not out of hurt.

But because she knew the real war had only just begun—and she would no longer fight it alone.

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