They’re standing too close now.
Isla smells him, soap, leather, something warm and human.Awareness sparks low in her stomach, unwelcome and confusing.
She hates that her body notices.
She hates that his eyes linger a second too long.
“Who are you?”she demands.
He hesitates.
Just a fraction.
“Someone who actually knew him,” he says.
The words sting more than any insult.
Isla swallows.“You knew a version of him.”
His mouth curves into something bitter.“And you knew nothing.”
“Oh, you are so right,” she says.
Footsteps sound behind them.
“Isla!”
Alisa’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.Isla turns, relief and irritation tangling together.
“There you are,” Alisa says, sweeping toward them.Her eyes flick over the man with quick assessment.“And who is this?”
Callum stiffens.
Isla answers before he can.“Apparently, someone who thinks I don’t belong here.”
Alisa’s lips thin.“We are Keir MacLaren’s family.”
The man’s gaze sharpens.“That’s debatable.”
Alisa bristles.“Excuse me?”
He looks directly at Isla’s mother now, and Isla sees something in his expression, contained grief, tightly leashed fury.
“He raised me,” the man says.“He chose me.He loved me, and I loved him.”
Alisa scoffs.“That doesn’t make you family.”
Callum’s hands curl into fists at his sides.“Funny.He never chose you.”
The silence that follows is electric.
Isla feels caught between them, heart pounding, emotions flaring in every direction at once.
“This conversation is over,” Alisa snaps.“We didn’t come here to be insulted by?—”
“By someone who stayed?”Callum interrupts.“Someone who showed up when it mattered?”
Isla steps forward without thinking.“Stop.”
