**ISABELLA'S POV**

The London sun was surprisingly warm, spilling across the duvet as I sat propped up against the headboard. For the first time in days, my chest didn't feel tight. The "ghost" of the Hartley name was fading, replaced by the weight of the envelope on my nightstand containing my real birth certificate.

I was on the phone with Olga, the familiar rasp of her Berlin accent grounded me.

"I'm telling you, Izzy, you're a legend," Olga laughed on the other end. "A British citizen by blood? That's some movie-level plot twist. I'm just happy the 'creeps' didn't win." She paused for a few seconds "They got bars too....