Chapter 15
The storage room grows quieter the longer they stay in it.
Not empty, never empty, but hushed in the way old places get when they’re listening. The walls hold sound differently here, swallowing words instead of echoing them back, as if the castle itself is deciding which truths are worth repeating.
Callum shifts his weight, careful not to brush against Isla. The proximity is dangerous. Not because of the kiss, though that still burns in his mind, but because of everything that followed it. The quiet. The way neither of them pretended it hadn’t mattered.
That kiss, he felt certain, had scorched his clothing, and he just couldn’t see it yet.
Callum has lived most of his adult life managing distance. Knowing how close to stand. When to pull back. When to stay silent rather than risk the wrong thing slipping out.
This room makes that discipline harder.
Isla kneels at one of the lower shelves, methodical again, her spine straight, shoulders squared. She’s rebuilt herself since the kiss. He recognizes the change now, the way she locks emotion behind precision. Control as armor. Ignoring him and focusing on the mission at hand.
He doesn’t interrupt.
She opens another box and sighs. “This is absurd.”
Callum crouches nearby, resting his forearms on his knees. “What is?”
“Receipts. Storage invoices. Repairs from twenty years ago.” She flips through the papers, irritation sharp in every movement. “Why bring this up here? Why hide it?”
“Keir didn’t hide things because they were valuable,” Callum says. “He hid them because they were a part of him.”
She shoots him a look. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
She snorts softly, then reaches deeper into the box. Her fingers still.
Callum feels the shift instantly. Her breath catches, not sharply, but like something inside her has gone rigid.
“What?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer at first. Slowly, she pulls out a folded sheet of paper. Thicker than the rest. Official.
She opens it.
Callum leans in, scanning automatically. Header. Date. Clinic name.
Then the word.
VASECTOMY
His stomach drops. A week after her birth.
Isla stares at the paper like it’s written in another language. “That’s not possible.”
Callum swallows. “It is.”
Her head snaps up. “Why would he do that?”
The question slices through the room, sharp and demanding. Not grief yet. Anger. The kind that wants a reason, it can tear apart.
Callum can’t answer. Because everything he knows about Keir suddenly feels… insufficient.
She presses the paper toward him. “Why?”
“I don’t think it was about not wanting a child,” he says slowly.
Her laugh is harsh. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”
“It looks like a man closing a door,” Callum says. “But not necessarily because he didn’t want what was on the other side.”
“That’s generous,” Isla snaps.
“I’m not trying to be generous.”
“Then be honest.” Her voice tightens. “Why would he take a permanent step like this?”
Callum exhales, long and controlled. “Because Keir often said he believed he ruined people.”
Isla’s anger stutters, but only for a moment. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” he says. “He talked about failure like it was inevitable. Like once you crossed a certain line, all you could do was make things worse.”
She stands abruptly. “So his solution was to get a vasectomy. And then to disappear?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not protection,” she snaps. “That’s abandonment. Just like my mother said.”
Callum doesn’t argue. The word fits too cleanly.
“He doesn’t get to decide that for everyone else,” Isla continues, pacing now, the invoice shaking in her hand. “He doesn’t get to decide what kind of pain is acceptable.”
Callum’s chest tightens. She isn’t wrong, and knowing that feels like betrayal anyway.
“I’m not defending it,” he says quietly.
She stops pacing and turns to him. “Then why are you still trying to make it make sense?”
The answer costs him more than he expects. “Because if it doesn’t… then everything I thought I knew about him collapses.”
Silence stretches.
Isla’s expression softens just slightly. “Welcome to the club. So far, none of this makes sense.”
“No,” he agrees, wondering how it felt to be the child of a very talented musician with lots of money, but no love from her father.
She sinks onto one of the old trunks, shoulders slumping. “This doesn’t feel impulsive,” she says. “It feels calculated.”
“Yes,” Callum agrees. “Keir didn’t do anything impulsive with his body. Or his consequences.”
“So something pushed him here.”
Callum hesitates. “Or someone.”
Her jaw tightens. “My mother always said he didn’t want a family.”
“That’s not the same as not wanting people,” Callum replies.
She looks at him sharply. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference,” he says carefully, “is believing you are the problem.”
Her voice trembles. “That still doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
They sit with that. With the weight of it. With the knowledge that the truth is not going to be kind to either of them.
Finally, Isla folds the invoice carefully, as if it might shatter if she isn’t gentle. “One day,” she says, “I’m going to know exactly why he made this choice.”
Callum nods. “And when you do, it won’t erase what it cost you.”
She meets his gaze. “No. But I’m going to talk to my mother and ask her if she knew about the vasectomy.”
“Good idea,” he says, doubting that her mother will ever tell her the truth.
The lock rattles faintly as the building settles.
“It’s getting late. We need to find a way out,” Isla says.
“I know.”
“There’s one more option,” he says. “Mrs. Calder.”
“The housekeeper?”
“She’s been here longer than anyone. If anyone knows how to free an old lock, it’s her.”
Isla nods. “Call her.”
Picking up his cell phone, he dials the housekeeper’s line. It rings twice.
“Calder residence.”
“Mrs. Calder, it’s Callum. We’re… indisposed.”
A pause. “Indisposed how?”
“We’re locked in the north wing storage room.”
Another pause. Longer.
“Well,” she says dryly, “that’s unfortunate.”
“Could you bring the master key?”
“I’ll bring the hammer,” she replies. “Be there shortly.”
The line goes dead.
Isla exhales. “I like her.”
“She terrifies me,” Callum admits.
They wait in silence.
Callum watches Isla, how she steadies herself, how she refuses to let grief take over. He realizes something then that unsettles him more than the invoice ever could.
He still loves Keir.
But he no longer trusts him.
The sound of footsteps approaches. Metal scrapes. A sharp crack.
The door swings open, light spilling in.
Mrs. Calder stands there, unimpressed. “Next time,” she says briskly, “leave the archaeology to professionals.”
Callum steps aside to let Isla pass, watching her carefully.
As they leave the room behind, he knows with certainty that nothing they uncovered today will let either of them walk forward unchanged.
And that whatever comes next will ask them to choose between loyalty and truth.