Callum turns.
Isla looks different in daylight.Less volatile than she did at the funeral, but sharper for it.She wears dark trousers and a fitted jacket, her auburn hair pulled back tight, her face closed off like a door with the lock thrown.She looks like someone who has already decided not to stay.
Her mother, Alisa, is another thing entirely.
Alisa MacLaren’s gaze sweeps the room with practiced appraisal, the shelves of rare books, the antique desk, the carved fireplace.She is not looking at memories.She is looking at assets.
Callum recognizes fear when he sees it.
Not grief.
Fear.
Fear of losing the monthly checks that have cushioned her life for decades.Fear of watching the last tie to Keir’s money snap and leave her exposed.
They take their seats at the long table.
Callum sits opposite Isla, tension coiling low and tight in his chest.He hasn’t spoken to her since the night of the funeral reception.He hasn’t stopped thinking about her, either, which irritates him more than anything else.
All that auburn hair, that stubborn tilt of her chin, and those full lips that are inviting.What would she taste like?
Bell clears his throat.
“Thank you for meeting this morning,” he says.“I’ll proceed.”
Proceed,Callum thinks.Get it over.
Like this is orderly.Like this isn’t a reckoning.
“This is the last will and testament of Keir MacLaren,” Bell begins, opening the folder.“Executed on March twelfth?—”
Callum stops listening to the date.
Dates don’t matter.
Promises do.
“The estate includes multiple properties, intellectual rights, publishing income, performance royalties, and liquid investments?—”
Alisa leans forward slightly, fingers tightening together.
Callum keeps his eyes on Bell.
“And,” Bell continues, “the primary residence known as MacLaren Castle.”
Here it comes.
Callum’s pulse spikes.
Bell reads carefully, as if gentleness might blunt the blow.
I leave a quarter of my financial assets to Alisa MacLaren and the rest to my daughter, Isla MacLaren.I leave my primary residence, including all attached lands, fixtures, and contents, to my daughter, Isla MacLaren, to do with as she sees fit.
The words land like a physical strike.
Callum doesn’t breathe.
This includes the right to retain, occupy, lease, or sell said property at her sole discretion.
