Chapter 28 – Isabella
ISABELLA
The ocean churned before me, the white caps of the waves just highlighting the turmoil and power beneath. It was strangely mirroring the storm brewing inside of me. The one I worked hard not to let anyone see.
The same storm I worked so hard to not have any impact on my life.
I’d slipped away from everyone—even Mira. I just needed a second alone to get back my self-control—a moment alone to catch my breath and deal with the shock, and my emotions. My bare feet sank into the damp sand as raindrops began to dot my face—each one a cool shock against the humid air.
I closed my eyes and inhaled the salt-heavy breeze. The approaching storm felt as if nature understood the chaos breaking loose inside of me and all around me.
Uncle Marcus. Here. On this island. With Grey.
I’d spent years getting it out of my system. I’d processed what happened—and could’ve happened. If somebody would’ve asked me, I would’ve sworn it didn’t have an impact anymore, that he couldn’t hurt me anymore.
Yet one glimpse of him standing beside Grey had shattered that illusion.
It must’ve been the surprise because he was the last man I’d expected to suddenly reappear in my life.
And my body remembered what my mind had been so good at forgeting—his cologne, his wolfish smile, the way he looked at me, his touches.
I swallowed hard against the low-level nausea. Okay, this was enough. I would not give this man any more power over me. A gust of wind hit me head-on, and I hugged myself and dug my nails into my upper arms hard enough to leave marks. The pain helped to ground me in the present.
“You’re not that little girl anymore,” I whispered to myself, digging my toes deeper into the sand. “He can’t touch you anymore.”
A gust of wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. I welcomed the discomfort, used it to pull myself from the spiral of darkness that was just waiting to suck me in.
The physical sensations—the wet sand between my toes, the warmth of the rain, the taste of salt on my lips—it was just perfect to anchor me to the now, to prevent me from drowning in memories.
A flash of light—then thunder rumbled in the distance.
And suddenly a thought flashed through my mind as if my brain needed until now to make the connections.
Grey, Uncle Marcus, Ivan, they were all connected—had been for a long time.
My file on Grey’s computer started with that case report.
The video feed on Uncle Marcus’s laptop when he found me reading in Father’s office during Nonno’s memorial service.
That dimly lit basement. Those kids who fought like animals, most likely for the entertainment of monsters in expensive suits—like Uncle Marcus.
That boy in particular who had stood out—fierce, determined, refusing to break despite the terrible odds.
He’d fought for his life and protected the smaller children while looking barely human.
The image of him had haunted me for a long time: his determination, his refusal to break despite the horror of his circumstances.
There had been something about the way he fought—not with blind rage or fear, but with cold, focused intent. Even as a child, I’d recognized something extraordinary in him—a will to survive that went beyond normal human limits.
Like a gladiator. Like an animal.
The sudden thought hit me with such force that I gasped aloud, and my hand flew to my mouth.
The way Ivan described his past…he was a couple of years older than me, as well, so the age would be right…
The timing probably matched. The description fit.
Could Ivan have been there? Could he maybe have been that boy? The one who’d unknowingly given me strength all those years ago?
The possibility that Ivan might’ve been one of them—that our paths had crossed decades before we actually met—left me dizzy with the strange sense of destiny. I sank my toes in the wet sand, ground myself against the onslaught of memories.
For years, I’d dreamed about that boy fighting for his life—wondered if he’d survived, if he’d found freedom. Somehow, I’d always gained strength from him. Now I wondered if fate had actually led him to me, or me to him.
I’d used the memory of that boy during my darkest moments—when I’d been hiding from Uncle Marcus, whenever I’d felt trapped by my father’s expectations, when I’d felt invisible, or inconsequential, or objectified. When I had no voice, no worth.
Even when I started hacking and became Iset, I’d sometimes channeled that boy’s fierce determination, his refusal to break despite his circumstances.
He’d been a talisman of sorts, a reminder that survival, that strength was possible even in the most desperate circumstances. Even if the odds were very slim.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. There was no way to be certain apart from asking him. He hadn’t mentioned anything about how he’d been rescued. But even if he’d been there, what difference would it make now?
And yet…something about that connection felt important. As if a story was coming full circle.
Our story.
Maybe we weren’t just meant to meet once—not meant for a fling or a one-night stand. Maybe we’d been destined for more right from the start.
I gave the tip.
The Paraskia Syndicate rescued those kids…but Grey’s file contained operational details…details that weren’t in the original file.
So what if…what if it was one of the operations Grey ran on the side?
Grey and…Uncle Marcus?
Rain began to fall more steadily, warm drops that blended with the salt spray from the increasingly rough sea. I should go back and tell Ivan. I should go back to the others.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face them yet—especially Uncle Marcus. But staying out here wouldn’t help either.
I moved back the way I had come from when movement farther down the shoreline caught my eye. A slender figure stood at the edge of the wooden pier, staring out at the boats there.
I couldn’t miss Cara’s distinctive hair, the way she hunched her shoulders slightly as if trying to make herself smaller while staring out there.
What was she doing out here alone with the storm closing in? Was she looking for me?
I closed the distance. “Cara?” I called as I approached, my voice nearly lost in the wind, but I didn’t want to startle her either.
She didn’t respond, seemingly transfixed by the boats rocking violently in the waves.
“Cara?” I tried again when I stood right next to her. “What are you doing out here? The storm’s getting worse.”
She startled and turned to me with haunted eyes. Her hair was already plastered to her head from the rain, making her look younger and more vulnerable than usual. “I can’t look away from the water.”
I followed her gaze to Grey and Marcus’s speedboats, their hulls slapping against the pier. “Why? It’s getting rough out here.”
She took a deep breath, and I almost didn’t expect her to answer.
“I almost drowned when I was twelve,” she confessed softly, her voice barely audible above the wind.
“I’ve been terrified of water ever since.
It’s just the raw power, the way it doesn’t care who or what’s in the way or trapped in it. ”
I noticed her trembling hands despite the warm air.
I didn’t really know her, apart from knowing she was Jemma’s sister, and Cristo was obviously smitten with her. But I could empathize. Everybody’s experience, everybody’s fear was different, uniquely their own but equally real.
I never would’ve thought Cara had a fear of water.
But nobody who just knew me casually would know I usually couldn’t stand being too close to people for too long—would know the panic I was feeling internally. With everyone but Ivan.
Trauma wasn’t what happened to you; it was what it did with you, what changed within you, what broke or splintered.
And no matter what it was, it became a part of you.
“How did it happen?” I asked gently, moving to stand beside her on the pier. The wood was slick beneath my bare feet, but I made sure my shoulder touched Cara’s so she could feel my presence.
Cara’s gaze remained fixed on the churning sea.
She shrugged. “I can’t really remember all the details.
But we were on a school trip at the beach, and someone shoved me off the dock while the teachers weren’t looking.
” She swallowed hard. “I don’t remember how it happened, why I sank, or how I got out, but I remember how I couldn’t fight, the burning in my lungs… ”
She trailed off, lost in the memory. I waited silently, giving her the space to continue if she wanted to.
“They said I was underwater for almost two minutes before someone pulled me out,” she finally said. “Sometimes, I still wake up feeling like I can’t breathe.”
The vulnerability in her admission touched something in me. Cara had always seemed so shy, so closed off. A stereotypical bookworm. I’d never gotten the chance to truly know her. Not yet. Now I wondered what other depths she concealed behind her quiet exterior.
Lightning flashed in the not-so-far distance, illuminating the roiling clouds that darkened the horizon. “We should head back,” I said,
She nodded but didn’t move. “Do you ever wonder if someone who’s broken can ever just…be fixed?”
The question hung between us, raw and honest in a way that conversations rarely were. Rain streamed down her face, indistinguishable from tears.
Was she talking about her trauma from her near-drowning or about whatever happened during her kidnapping? I moved closer, our shoulders almost touching as we faced the angry sea together.
“I used to think no,” I admitted. “Like there was a crack running through me that would never heal. But now, I think maybe we’re not broken—just changed. Forced to become stronger in ways we never should’ve had to, but we did.”
“I don’t feel strong,” Cara whispered.
“Sometimes, the things that hurt us, that terrify us most, still have a strong hold on us, but that doesn’t mean we’re not strong,” I said finally.