Not to impress.
But to claim the moment.
Callum pushes off the wall before he can talk himself out of it.
Isla doesn’t turn.
Her shoulders are squared, posture perfect even in stillness.A tear slips down her cheek, catching the light before she wipes it away with the back of her hand like she refuses to apologize for it.
“You play with emotion,” Callum says quietly.
She freezes.
For a moment, he thinks she might tell him to leave.He half-expects it.He deserves it.
Instead, she exhales slowly.
“I didn’t know anyone was listening.”
“I was trying not to,” he admits.
That earns him a glance.
Her eyes are red-rimmed but fierce, alive with something he doesn’t have a name for.Not grief.Not anger.
Ownership.
“This room carries sound,” she says.“The sound wants to be heard.”
Odd how much father and daughter are alike.
Callum nods.“Keir used to say that.”
Her fingers still.
“He played here?”
“Every night,” Callum says.“When the world got too loud, and he wanted solace.”
She looks back at the piano, something unreadable crossing her face.
“He taught me not to interrupt,” Callum adds.“Said the music would stop when it was ready.”
Isla’s mouth curves faintly.“Smart man.”
Callum almost laughs.
Smart wasn’t the word he’d use.More like driven, haunted, and more talented than any musician he’d ever met.Even his own father.
She turns on the bench then, finally facing him fully.“You think I’m here to take something from you.”
The directness knocks the breath from him.
“Yes,” he says, just as plainly.Knowing she was voicing his biggest fear.
She nods once, as if she expected it.“You think the castle is yours.”
“Your father promised it to me.I think I earned it.”
