"Right here, right now, Marcus. Take it."
The first heavy drops hit, fat and cold. The sky above Paradise Key Private Resort opened above us as yet another thunderstorm rolled in. The wind clawed at my jacket, flapping the fabric like a loose sail. I planted my feet on the slick stone, each step a gamble.
"Marcus!" My voice barely crested the growing roar of wind. "Think about what you're doing!"
"Thinking is all I've done," he yelled back, water streaming down his face, indistinguishable from tears.
"Violence won't bring Isla back," I said, advancing with care, feeling the rain turn the ground to soap beneath me. "It won't clear your name."
"Clear my name?" His laugh was a sharp crack, almost lost in the thunder. "And what? Go back to nothing?"
"Nothing can become something." I kept moving. "But only if you're alive to see it through."
"Alive…." He turned slightly, eyes wild, searching mine.
"Listen to me, Marcus." Rain plastered my hair to my scalp, and streams of water coursed down my back. "Isla wouldn't want this for you."
"You didn't know her!" he shot back, but his voice cracked, a fissure in his resolve.
"Then tell me," I urged. "Tell me who she was, what she stood for. Honor her memory the right way."
He paused. Tension knotted his brow, loosening and tightening as waves of indecision crashed over his features.
"Is this it?" I shouted over the wind's roar. "The end you pictured?"
His lips moved silently, wrestling with unseen ghosts. For a heartbeat, the hopeful boy peeked through the veil of the hardened man before me. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a note, and handed it to me.
“Read this when I’m gone.”
"Marcus." My plea was raw.
Then, his face became set like stone. "No more words!" he spat, body coiling like a spring.
"Wait!"
I yelled.
But it was too late.
With a reckless energy, he pulled the trigger. Panic surged through me—a jolt of electricity.
"Marcus, no!"
I leaped, fingers snatching at the air, grasping. I grabbed him just as his lifeless body fell to the ground.
Chapter41
THEN:
Victoria sat at her vanity, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling through the window and bathing her in an almost celestial light. Her hands rested gently on the mahogany surface, fingers tracing the intricate carvings as if to draw strength from their time-worn patterns. The mirror before her reflected an image of poise: a woman untroubled, with ice-blue eyes that held the world at bay and blonde hair swept up in a bun so perfect it defied any suggestion of haste.
But behind those eyes raged something sinister, thoughts swirling around the decision she had reached—a decision she believed was an act of mercy, a necessity. Victoria's heart thrummed with the rhythm of inevitability as she considered Isla, her own flesh and blood. The girl threatened the very fabric of their existence with her recklessness, her untamed spirit. Victoria felt compelled to act to save the family from scandal and the shame of Isla's forbidden love for Javier. In her mind, it was the only way to salvage their legacy.
"Mother?" The voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through Victoria's reverie like a knife through silk.
Isla stood at the threshold, her brown hair cascading over slender shoulders, her figure poised tentatively as if unsure of her welcome. Sunlight caught in her hair, setting it ablaze with hues of copper and gold.
"Darling," Victoria replied, her voice smooth as velvet, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within. "Do come in."
