Chapter 13
I didn’t say yes. Not yet.
But I also didn’t say no.
Troy and I agreed that we’d take it slow-get to know each other again after all these years. And surprisingly, it felt… natural. Effortless. Like we’d been waiting all along for life to circle back to this moment.
My stepfather, Lucas, was thrilled. He even joked that we looked like a couple straight out of an art film, all soft smiles and coffee-shop glances.
“You glow around him,” he said one morning over breakfast, setting his mug down. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
And it was. I was smiling again. Laughing. Eating without forcing it. Sleeping through the night. I wasn’t counting the hours until the next disappointment or flinching at every message that came in. Kevin’s name hadn’t crossed my mind in days.
Instead, I was working. Painting. Creating again. The gallery Lucas owned had a corner room overlooking the street, and he gave it to me as a studio. Troy helped move in my canvases. He bought me new brushes, ones I never had the courage to splurge on. He even fixed the old record player I’d almost thrown out-just so I could paint to the music I loved.
‘Artist mode: activated,” he teased, grinning as he wiped black paint from my cheek with his humb.
We spent most evenings together. Some nights, we went out to try local restaurants, and other nights, we stayed in, curled up with sketchbooks and quiet conversation. He’d sketch landscapes or strange cartoons. I’d paint flowers. We’d laugh when our fingers brushed in the same watercolor jar.
‘Maybe this could be something real,” I admitted one night, leaning against his shoulder as we watched stars from his patio.
He kissed the top of my head gently. “Then let’s make it real. No rush. Just… us.”
didn’t respond. But I didn’t pull away either.
So when I decided to surprise him at his office that Thursday afternoon-with lunch in hand and a smile on my face-I was confident. Happy, even. For once, I didn’t second-guess whether I’d be welcome. I knew I would be.
The elevator chimed softly as I reached the top floor. I was halfway down the hall when my phone buzzed.
Lucas.
I almost ignored it, thinking I’d call him back later. But something in me-a chill, a flicker-told
me to answer.
“Hello?”
There was a pause. A heavy breath.
“Isabella…” my stepfather said gently, his voice more serious than usual. “I need to tell you something.”
I stopped walking. “What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure when to bring this up, but… your biological father. He’s been asking around for you.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Third person’s pov
The wind stirred dry leaves across the villa’s gravel driveway as Gregory stepped out of the car adjusting his coat. The countryside air was calmer than he expected. But nothing about this visit would be calm.
He marched toward the front porch with purpose, jaw clenched, his driver staying behind. Wher Lucas opened the door, the two men locked eyes-Lucas in his simple sweater and worr expression, Gregory in his tailored suit, stiff with tension.
“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked warily.
“You know damn well why I’m here,” Gregory snapped. “Where’s Isabella?”
Lucas stepped outside and closed the door behind him, blocking the entry. “She’s not here.”
Gregory’s nostrils flared. “Don’t play this game with me. I know she reached out to you. I’ve searched everywhere. I deserve to know where my daughter is.”
‘You lost that right the day you let her suffer under your roof,” Lucas said, his tone steady bu sharp. “The day you chose Jasmine’s lies over her truth.”
Gregory’s voice rose. “I was misled. I was wrong, I know that now. That’s why I’m here. To make i right.”
Lucas let out a low breath, shaking his head. “Make it right? You called her a disgrace. You le your own family humiliate her. You watched her suffer and did nothing.”
‘That was before I knew the truth!”
‘You should’ve wanted to know the truth,” Lucas countered, voice trembling now. “You turne your back when she needed you most.”
Gregory took a step forward. “She’s my daughter. I need to speak with her.”
‘She’s my daughter too,” Lucas said. “Not by blood, but by choice. And I’ll protect her from anything that hurts her. Including you.”
Tension filled the space between them, unspoken blame hanging heavy in the air.
“You don’t get to keep her from me,” Gregory growled. “I have every right to see her.”
“And I have every right to protect her peace,” Lucas answered.
Gregory’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice, usually calm and commanding, now trembled with restrained fury. “You think you know her better than me? You think your few years with her gives you more of a right?”
Lucas scoffed, a bitter sound in the quiet afternoon. “More right than the man who threw her out? Yes, Gregory. A thousand times yes.”
Gregory snapped. Maybe it was the guilt, or the years of silence, or the fact that Lucas wouldn’t give him a straight answer. Whatever it was, his fist flew-quick, rough, and full of pent-up
