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Emilio's gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the distance, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Isla and I, we were… it was like we breathed each other's souls."

"Souls," I echoed, my own breath catching at the rawness in his tone. “That’s deep. And very poetic. You loved each other?”

"Her laughter was my heartbeat." A sad smile touched his lips for a fleeting moment before despair reclaimed its territory. "And then it stopped."

"Because of her family?" My question sliced through the quiet evening air, sharp and direct.

"Her mother," Emilio corrected, spitting out the words as if they were poison. "She couldn't stomach us—our love. My real name is Javier. I used a different name when I came here, so Mrs. Walton wouldn’t know it was me who was coming with her sister. Beatrice told me to do that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been invited. Beatrice told Victoria that she wanted her friend to be with her.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Beatrice contacted me a couple of weeks ago and asked me to attend Mark’s party. At first, I said there was no way I was ever going back there, but she told me it was important and that I should do it for Isla. Beatrice was the only one who helped us back then, who thought it was okay for us to love one another. So, I trusted her and came with her. When Victoria saw me, she almost lost it, but she couldn’t do anything about it since all the guests were already here. I still don’t know why Beatrice wanted me to come. But seeing Mark… dead the same way Isla died, it… it almost broke me.”

"Tell me what happened back then," I urged, though every word seemed to carve deeper into his torment.

"Her mother found out about us. It was awful. The screaming, the threats…." His fingers twisted together, knuckles white. "It was relentless, suffocating."

"Did she threaten Isla?"

"Us both." Emilio's voice cracked, and he paused to swallow hard. "But Isla bore the worst of it. She was trapped by the family’s expectations."

"And that led to…."

"I was thrown off the island. My mother continued to work and stay here for at least a few years before she left. I lost everything that day. I grew up here on this island. It was also my home."

“What about your father?” I asked.

“He left when I was young. Mrs. Walton took in my mother and me and made sure my mom had a good job. She was always so good to us. Until… until.”

“You fell in love with her daughter.”

“Yes. It ruined everything. She had me escorted off the island and told me never to return. I was eighteen.”

“And then what happened?”

“Then, a few days later, Marcus killed Isla. It was the most awful thing in the world.”

“And who was Marcus Cole to her again?” I asked. “If you were the love of her life?”

“He was her cover, her boyfriend that her mother wanted her to be with instead of me. I suppose he became jealous upon learning about her love for me. No one really knows exactly what went on that night.”

“So, you weren’t there? You weren’t on the island?”

“No. I was staying with my uncle and his wife in Marathon Key. I heard what had happened from her Aunt Beatrice, who called me the next day and told me. A big part of me died with her that day. And even though I loved her the most, I wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral. Her mother wouldn’t let me. Marcus confessed to the murder the day after she was found, and that was it. I eventually moved on with my life. But I never forgot about her.”

My heart clenched as the pieces fell into place, the tragic mosaic of Emilio's past revealing itself.

"Thank you, Eva Rae," he whispered, his voice steadier than before. "For believing me."

"Thank you for sharing." My reply was simple, but it carried the weight of my resolve.

I spun on my heel, gravel crunching underfoot, as I marched back to the main house. Each step punctuated my thoughts—sharp, clear, determined.

"Think, Eva, think," I muttered, replaying Emilio's revelations in my head. The pieces were there, scattered, waiting for me to fit them together.

My mind scrolled through guest profiles, alibis, and timelines. Patterns emerged, a sinister tapestry weaving through Paradise Key's idyllic facade. I needed angles, leverage, something to pry open the tight-lipped secrets this place harbored.

"Hello, main house," I greeted the imposing structure as it came into view, its windows like watching eyes.

"Let's see what ghosts you're hiding," I said, more to myself than anyone who might overhear. "Time to shake things up," I promised myself as I stepped onto the veranda.