“ I do not understand,” Isabella said, her voice shaking harder than she wanted it to, her eyes locked on Victor.Victor did not move from the doorway immediately.“I am serious,” she added, stepping back slightly as if the photographs themselves were closing in on her, “you cannot just say something like that and expect it to make sense.”“It is not meant to make sense all at once,” Victor replied, finally stepping into the room, his voice controlled but lower than usual, like he was speaking carefully around something sharp.Isabella shook her head. “No, you are going to explain it now.”He stopped a few steps inside, looking at the walls once before looking back at her. “The man in those photographs is Felix Hart.”The name hit the air and stayed there.Isabella blinked once. “Hart,” she repeated, almost quietly, like she was testing it.“Yes,” Victor said.“My mother is Valeria Hart,” she said slowly, watching him closely now, “that is not a coincidence.”“It is not,” he replied.
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