Page 42

THEN:

Victoria sat at her vanity, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling through the window and bathing her in an almost celestial light. Her hands rested gently on the mahogany surface, fingers tracing the intricate carvings as if to draw strength from their time-worn patterns. The mirror before her reflected an image of poise: a woman untroubled, with ice-blue eyes that held the world at bay and blonde hair swept up in a bun so perfect it defied any suggestion of haste.

But behind those eyes raged something sinister, thoughts swirling around the decision she had reached—a decision she believed was an act of mercy, a necessity. Victoria's heart thrummed with the rhythm of inevitability as she considered Isla, her own flesh and blood. The girl threatened the very fabric of their existence with her recklessness, her untamed spirit. Victoria felt compelled to act to save the family from scandal and the shame of Isla's forbidden love for Javier. In her mind, it was the only way to salvage their legacy.

"Mother?" The voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through Victoria's reverie like a knife through silk.

Isla stood at the threshold, her brown hair cascading over slender shoulders, her figure poised tentatively as if unsure of her welcome. Sunlight caught in her hair, setting it ablaze with hues of copper and gold.

"Darling," Victoria replied, her voice smooth as velvet, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within. "Do come in."

Isla's gaze lingered on her mother, searching, hoping. She stepped inside, the hem of her dress whispering against the floor as she moved closer. She carried an old photo album in her hands, one that Victoria knew all too well. Seeing this again made her heart stop for a second before she composed herself.

"I wanted to talk to you, Mother,” Isla said, placing the album in front of her. “About… everything."

"Of course," Victoria said, turning in her chair to face her daughter fully, masking the calculating glint in her eye with a serene smile. "I've been reflecting on recent events myself."

"Really?" Isla's voice lifted, tinged with a fragile optimism. "I hope we can find our way back to how things were. I miss us, Mother—I miss our talks, the way you would guide me."

"Life is an ever-changing tapestry, my dear. We must all adapt to the new patterns it presents us."

Victoria's words flowed like sweet nectar, laced with an undercurrent of something darker that Isla, in her yearning for reconciliation, did not detect.

"Then, do you think… Do you think you could accept Javier? Accept us?" Isla asked, her hands clasped together as if in silent prayer.

"Let us focus on one step at a time, Isla," Victoria counseled, her calm exterior a stark contrast to the decisive coldness that had settled in her heart. “How about you and I go for a walk on the beach? We can have a picnic."

"I would love that. Thank you, Mother," Isla breathed out, her relief palpable. Her eyes were alight with a hope that danced dangerously close to the precipice of her mother's concealed intentions.

Leaning against the cool marble of the hallway, Marcus Cole's gaze lingered on the partially open door to Victoria’s bedroom. From this discreet vantage point, he could see Isla, her back turned toward him as she conversed with Victoria. But it wasn't the sight of them together that troubled him; it was the things being said. It was too smooth, too rehearsed. It hung in the air like a velvet curtain, concealing the truth behind its plush facade.

"Something isn't right," Marcus muttered under his breath, the knot in his stomach tightening with every honeyed word that dripped from Victoria’s lips. He knew the cadence of deception all too well, and it echoed through Victoria's calculated responses. There was an art to her duplicity that played out before Isla in a performance worthy of the grandest stages.

"Focus on one step at a time, Isla," Victoria's voice floated through the gap, each syllable measured, each pause deliberate.

Marcus furrowed his brow, his concern for Isla amplifying into a silent alarm. He had seen Victoria’s charm wielded like a weapon, but never with such dangerous precision.

"I need to keep an eye on them both," he resolved, the weight of his responsibility pressing upon him with newfound urgency. He loved Isla with everything he had and vowed to protect her.

The soft crush of wet sand beneath her feet brought a rare moment of solace to Isla as she ventured out on her walk with her mother. The ocean's rhythmic hush seemed to whisper encouragement, the gentle touch of the breeze playing with her long hair. She replayed the morning’s conversation with Victoria in her mind, dissecting each word, each pause, searching for signs of thaw in her mother's frosty demeanor.

Maybe she's finally seeing things differently, Isla thought to herself, allowing a fragile tendril of hope to unfurl within her chest. It was a hope tinged with naivety—the kind that painted the world in forgiving strokes—a hope that Victoria might come to understand Isla's love for Javier, that love that transcended the rigid lines drawn by her family's expectations.

In the distance, unnoticed by Isla and her mother, Marcus trailed behind, his polished shoes sinking slightly into the damp sand. He watched Isla with a furrowed brow, the weight of his concerns growing heavier with each step she took. There were moments when he wanted to call out to warn her, but he held back, trapped in hesitation.

Marcus had seen it—the subtle shift in Victoria's gaze when she looked at Isla as if measuring the worth of her daughter through a lens smeared with disdain.

And he feared the worst was about to happen.