Chapter 25
Isla doesn’t go home.
That decision is made before the car even pulls away from the airport. Her phone vibrates in her hand, her mother’s name lighting up the screen like a summons, and something inside Isla finally… stills.
Not fear.
Clarity.
She answers on the third ring.
“What time do you land?” her mother asks without preamble. “I’ll have a car waiting.”
Isla closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, the city is already rushing past the window, sharp and familiar and entirely unchanged.
“I’m not coming home,” she says.
Silence crackles on the line.
“What do you mean you’re not coming home?” Alisa asks, her tone sharpening. “Isla, you’ve been gone long enough. We need to talk about your schedule.”
“We’re going to talk,” Isla says. “But not about my schedule.”
A pause. Calculated.
“Where are you?” her mother asks.
“Manhattan.”
Another pause, longer this time. “You should come home. You’re exhausted.”
Isla lets out a quiet laugh. “I’ve never been more awake. Meet me at the hotel. We need to talk.”
She hangs up without waiting for permission.
The hotel lobby smells like polished stone and restraint. Neutral. Impersonal. Safe. Isla checks in under her own name, no assistant, no manager, no handler, smoothing the edges.
She barely closes the door to her room when there’s a knock.
She opens it to find her mother standing there, impeccably dressed, composed as ever. The woman who taught her how to perform long before she ever touched a piano.
“May I come in?” Alisa asks.
Isla steps aside.
Her mother takes in the room with a quick, appraising glance. “A hotel?”
“I needed space,” Isla replies.
“You need rest,” Alisa counters. “And to get back on track. How can you practice here?”
Isla closes the door and turns to face her. “I’ve rented space in a studio.”
Her mother’s expression is concerned.
“I read the divorce decree.”
The words drop like a match.
Alisa stills.
“That’s not appropriate reading,” her mother says coolly. “Those were private matters between your father and myself.”
“It was my life,” Isla snaps. “And you made decisions about it without me.”
Alisa exhales sharply. “I protected you.”
“No,” Isla says. “You controlled me.”
Her mother’s eyes flash. “You were a child. He was into drugs and wild sex parties. Something a child didn’t need to be around.”
“He changed.”
“Oh, don’t believe that.”
“When I was eighteen,” Isla fires back, “my father wanted to see me.”
“That’s not—”
“I know he told you he was coming,” Isla interrupts. “I know you threatened him.”
The room tightens.
Her mother shrugged her shoulders and licked her lips.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alisa says.
“I know you told him you’d release photos,” Isla continues, voice steady now, deadly calm. “I know you told him you’d destroy him publicly if he showed up.”
Her mother’s jaw tightens. “He was dangerous. He would ruin your reputation. He would destroy everything we were working for.”
“He was my father.”
“He was unstable,” Alisa snaps. “He was reckless. He would have dragged you into chaos. No one wants a concert pianist with a drug habit or a father who entices you into rock-n-roll.”
“And that was your decision to make?” Isla demands to know, staring at the woman who had made all the decisions regarding her career.
“Yes,” Alisa says without hesitation. “Because someone had to. Your job was to be a great pianist. Mine was to make certain that nothing derailed your career. Not your father. Not your education. Not any boy who tried to come around. You had the talent, and I was going to make you a star.”
Isla laughs, a sound stripped of humor. “You didn’t just keep him away from me. You made sure he stayed away. You’re telling me you kept everyone away.”
“I did what was necessary,” Alisa says. “And it worked.”
She’d always known her mother was ambitious, but this felt like a betrayal disguised as determination.
“Worked?” she repeats. “You mean I became exactly what you wanted?”
Alisa lifts her chin. “You became successful.”
“I became obedient,” Isla says. “There’s a difference.”
Her mother’s expression hardens. “Everything you have is because I managed you. Because I made certain you became a great pianist.”
“And everything I lost is because you controlled me,” Isla replied.
They stand there, the truth finally unmasked between them.
“You took away my choice,” Isla says. “You took away my father. And you told yourself it was because of love? What about the love I had for my father?”
Alisa’s voice sharpens. “You would have been destroyed by him.”
“No,” Isla says quietly. “I was destroyed by not knowing him.”
Silence crashes down.
“You don’t get to rewrite this,” Alisa says finally. “You don’t get to undo years of careful planning because you read a document. I’ve made you who you are.”
“I get to stop,” Isla replies. “I get to choose now.”
Her mother scoffs. “You’re emotional. This will pass.”
“No,” Isla says. “This ends.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a legal document, setting it on the table between them.
“You’re no longer my manager.”
Alisa’s face goes pale. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’ve already contacted my attorney,” Isla continues. “And a new representation agency. My contracts are being transferred. I have new staff. A new manager. Everyone you chose has been replaced.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Alisa says sharply. “You don’t understand this industry.”
“I understand control,” Isla says. “And I’m done living under it.”
Alisa’s composure finally cracks. “After everything I’ve sacrificed—”
“This isn’t about your sacrifice,” Isla says. “It’s about my life.”
Her mother stares at her, stunned.
“You’re choosing chaos,” Alisa says.
Isla shakes her head. “I’m choosing freedom.”
She opens the door.
“I’m not coming home,” Isla adds. “When I find a place, I’ll have my assistant come and pack up my things.”
Alisa looks at her for a long moment, eyes cold, calculating.
“Your father was a drug addict who cheated on me. You’re choosing him over me?”
“I’m choosing freedom. I’m choosing truth. I’m choosing to make my own mistakes,” she said, feeling certainty in her bones. This is right.
“You’ll regret this,” she says.
Isla meets her gaze without flinching. “Maybe. But it will be mine alone.”
Alisa leaves without another word.
Isla closes the door and leans back against it, heart hammering. Her legs feel unsteady, her breath shallow, but beneath the adrenaline is something unfamiliar and fragile.
Relief.
She crosses the room and sinks onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe someday she can forgive her. Maybe someday they can make up. But for now, she needs this space to learn to live on her own.
She has confronted the woman who shaped her entire life.
She has cut the final thread of control.
She is alone in a New York hotel room, with no plan, no handler, no safety net.
And for the first time, the fear feels like her own.
She pulls the curtains open and looks out at the city, bright and unyielding.
Somewhere far away, there is a castle waiting.
For now, Isla lets herself sit in the quiet aftermath of choosing herself, heartbroken, furious, and finally free.
She knows her father would have been proud of her today, proud that she finally spoke for herself and for him. And yet, even in the quiet, his music plays in her head, a reminder that pride and grief can exist at the same time.
What would her father have thought of her and Callum? Would he have encouraged it, or warned her away from the man she’s fallen in love with?