She doesn’t give anyone the satisfaction of watching her flinch.
At the reception, champagne glasses clink, and strings of light glow overhead.People congratulate Isla in warm, eager voices that blur together.The competition director praises her artistry.Someone asks about her future career.
Isla nods.Smiles.Thanks them.
All the while, she feels Alisa’s tension humming beside her like a warning.
Finally, as the room begins to thin and the clamor softens, Isla slips toward the side corridor leading to the exit.
Alisa catches up instantly.
“We go now,” she says, too sharp to be merely a suggestion.
Isla pauses near a framed poster listing past winners, names that had become legends.She touches the edge of the frame, grounding herself, then looks at her mother.
“What did you mean,” Isla asks, “when you said it’s about what happens next?”
Alisa’s eyes harden.“Don’t ask questions here.”
Isla’s mouth tightens.“He’s dead.That’s the only fact you’ve given me.”
“That’s enough, for now.”Alisa’s voice is brittle.
Isla studies her mother’s face, the tightness around her mouth, the strain in her eyes.Alisa MacLaren does not panic easily.She doesn’tdomessy.Everything in Isla’s life, every lesson, every schedule, every decision, has been arranged by Alisa like a masterpiece under glass.
So why does Alisa look like the glass is about to shatter?
“Is the money going to stop?”Isla asks quietly.
Alisa freezes.
For half a second, the silence between them is loud.
Then Alisa’s face flashes with indignation.“Is that what you think this is about?”
Isla doesn’t flinch.“Isn’t it?”
Alisa’s eyes go glossy with rage or grief or both.“That money was owed.”
“Owed,” Isla repeats, tasting the word.“For what?For leaving?”
Alisa’s jaw clenches.“For the life he destroyed.For promises he broke.For?—”
Alisa stops herself, swallowing the rest.
For the first time, Isla wonders if there are more details in Alisa’s history with Keir than she’s been allowed to know.Isla knew the official story: the rock star father who walked away from his wife and daughter.The furious mother who rebuilt a life, the monthly payments like hush money disguised as support.
But there were always more shadows behind official stories.
“Did you love him?”Isla asks before she can stop herself.
Alisa’s eyes snap to hers.“Years ago.”
That is answer enough.
They move toward the side exit, away from the reception, away from the remaining well-wishers.Alisa keeps her hand on Isla’s back like a guide and a guard, pushing her forward.
Outside, the air is cool and damp, laced with the scent of the ocean carried inland.The night should have felt victorious, the winning medal around her neck secured, the future cracking open into possibility.
