Sell.
The word detonates.
“That’s wrong,” Callum says flatly.
Bell looks up.“I’m afraid it isn’t.”
“He told me this place would be mine,” Callum snaps.“He promised?—”
“Verbal assurances,” Bell interrupts gently, “do not supersede a valid will.”
Callum grips the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.
Across from him, Isla says nothing.
That silence feels deliberate.Strategic.
“So that’s it?”Callum demands, turning to her.“You’ve been here two days, and you’re going to sell the only home I’ve ever known?”
“Yes,” Isla says.
One word.
Clean.Cold.Final.
Alisa exhales, relief slipping through before she can hide it.“We’ll need to discuss valuation and timeline, of course.”
Callum’s vision narrows.
“You’ve never been here,” he says to Isla, voice rough.“You don’t know this place.You don’t know what it means.”
“And I don’t want to,” Isla replies.“It isn’t mine.”
“It kept me alive,” Callum says.“It gave me structure.A future.”
“That doesn’t make it yours,” she counters.
“It makes it earned,” he snaps.
Alisa scoffs.“Keir made his intentions clear.”
“No,” Callum says, turning on her.“He didn’t.He never changed the will.”
Bell nods.“That is correct.”
Callum whips back.“Why?”
Bell hesitates, then sighs.“Keir was… conflicted.”
Conflicted.
The word feels like betrayal.
Keir had years.Decades.He had time to fix this, and he didn’t.
“Am I mentioned?”Callum asks, already bracing himself.
Bell flips a page.
