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Chapter 43
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2025-05-19 14:44:09Chapter 43: The Man Behind the Mask
The city was a different creature at night—glittering glass teeth, neon veins pulsing with life, hiding rot beneath the beauty. Isla stood by the floor-length window of Ethan’s apartment, watching the streets below with eyes that no longer held innocence.
The truth from the estate hadn’t faded. If anything, it had sharpened with time. Her mother’s secret had changed everything.
She had thought Victor Kane was simply cruel—a monster in love with control. But now she saw the full mosaic. He had been betrayed. Her mother’s child might not have been his. And Isla? She wasn’t even sure where she belonged in the twisted branches of her family tree anymore.
A low hum of jazz played from the speaker in the corner. Ethan emerged from the kitchen, setting a glass of wine beside her. His eyes lingered on her face, studying the hard lines that had replaced softness.
“Your hands are shaking,” he murmured.
She didn’t look at him. “They haven’t stopped since we got back.”
Ethan leaned against the glass beside her. “You need sleep.”
“I need truth.”
A beat passed. The only sound was the clinking of ice against glass.
Then Ethan spoke—low, deliberate. “Do you want to know what Victor is planning next?”
She turned to him. “You know?”
“I’ve been watching him longer than you think. He’s not letting go of this. He’s assembling people—old allies, dangerous ones. He wants to rebuild what he lost. And you…” He paused. “You’re the key.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Because I look like my mother?”
“Because you remind him of the only woman who ever left.”
The weight of that sentence settled into her chest like a stone.
“And Christopher?” she asked quietly.
Ethan hesitated. “He’s walking deeper into Victor’s world. Whatever good was in him—Victor is burning it out.”
She swallowed hard. “He wasn’t always like that.”
“No. But love changes people. And so does pain.”
The wine turned sour in her mouth. Isla stood, pacing the room. Her mind was a swirl of memories—Christopher’s arms, his betrayal, the way he held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. She had believed him. Once.
She didn’t know if she still did.
“I need to confront him,” she whispered. “Alone.”
Ethan stepped forward, tense. “That’s not safe. You don’t know what he’s capable of anymore.”
“I do. I’ve seen what grief and love can twist a person into.”
He grabbed her wrist gently. “Then let me come with you. Let me watch your back.”
Her voice trembled. “I don’t even know who I can trust anymore.”
His grip loosened, but his eyes softened. “Then trust that I care enough to not let you face a wolf with your back turned.”
She didn’t respond.
Instead, she turned toward the window again. Below, a car pulled up slowly to the curb—a familiar black vehicle, one she knew too well.
Victor Kane had arrived.
---
Downstairs – Kane's Arrival
The building’s doorman didn’t stop him. Victor’s presence was magnetic, terrifying. He moved like a man who knew the weight of power and the thrill of reclaiming it.
Ethan had already gone to the elevator. Isla stood at the door of the apartment, heart thudding.
She should’ve been afraid. But fear had long since transformed into something else. Something darker. Something defiant.
When the knock came, it was soft—mocking, like a predator playing with its prey.
She opened the door.
Victor stood there in tailored black, hair silvered at the edges, eyes unreadable. He looked at her as if she were art—and property.
“You look just like her,” he said quietly.
Isla didn’t flinch. “I’m not her.”
“No,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “You’re something far more dangerous. You have her beauty… and your father’s fire.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
“My real father,” Isla said, “is not you.”
Victor chuckled. “Ah. You found the journal.”
She said nothing.
He wandered the room, touching things gently—her wine glass, a forgotten scarf, the keys on the table. “I was angry when she left me. But I didn’t kill her, Isla. You need to understand that.”
“Then who did?”
He turned to her, eyes darker than night. “The truth has layers. Peeling one off doesn’t mean you’ve uncovered the core.”
She crossed her arms. “Then give me the rest.”
He moved closer, a shadow circling flame.
“She left me for a lie. The man she ran to—he wasn’t better than me. He was worse. He used her. And when she tried to come back, it was too late. She was broken. And I…” he paused, looking away. “I didn’t know how to love something already shattered.”
Isla felt a tremor run through her. Not because of his words—but because part of her believed them.
Victor’s hand reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You could change everything, Isla. You could bring it all back—glory, family, legacy.”
She stared at him. “You mean control.”
He leaned in, his breath warm. “Control is survival.”
Suddenly, Ethan entered the room.
“Your time’s up,” he said coldly.
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.
---
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 time.”
He brushed her hair back, resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be strong tonight. Just be here. With me.”
For the first time in a long while, Isla let herself cry.
Not because of pain.
But because she knew the real war was just beginning—and she would no longer face it alone.
---
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