37. Isabel
37
ISABEL
I ’ve spent the past hour catching Valeria up on every painful detail, every strange revelation, every conflicted emotion. It’s surreal, laying my heart bare like this, sharing truths that should be impossible to say aloud, but having her by my side makes it easier somehow.
Valeria sits quietly, absorbing each detail without judgment. Her eyes grow wider and wider as I talk about the brothers, the twisted legacy of Vanguard , the unexpected, complicated feelings that have grown within me. She squeezes my hand gently, giving me silent reassurance that whatever happens next, she won’t leave my side.
The door creaks open suddenly, and both our heads snap up. Theodore , Maxwell , Julian , and Verónica step into the room, their expressions solemn. It doesn’t take words to understand exactly what just happened.
It’s over.
My eyes meet Theodore’s first, then Julian’s , and finally Maxwell’s . Each gives me a subtle, reassuring nod, confirming everything without uttering a single word.
I should probably feel conflicted, knowing they’ve just taken a life, especially the life of the woman who raised them. But knowing Celeste’s monstrous history, what she has done and allowed to be done, leaves no room for sympathy in my heart. Whatever happened downstairs was justice. Maybe not the kind found in courtrooms, but justice, nonetheless.
Julian approaches me, his eyes softening as he gently grips my shoulder. “ Are you okay, corazón?” he murmurs, voice soft and comforting.
I nod, breathing deeply as relief floods through me. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. For a moment, Julian tenses in surprise before slowly melting into my embrace, holding me tightly, protectively.
When we pull apart, I glance over Julian’s shoulder toward Maxwell , who’s watching us with a glint in his dark eyes. He tosses me one of his playful winks, a smirk dancing across his lips. I can’t help but smile back. Even in this darkness, Maxwell has a way of making me feel safe, wanted.
Theodore’s calm gaze is on me. His eyes soften slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly in acknowledgment. “ Let’s go home,” he says.
Home .
The thought catches me off guard. The Whitmore estate has become my home, and strangely enough, it feels right.
As we leave the warehouse, stepping into the crisp night air, I glance back one last time at the darkened building. We’re leaving behind the pain, the secrets, the twisted legacy we’ve fought so hard against.
Now , we’re free to build something new—something ours.