Isabella slammed the door behind her as she entered the Richard estate, the echo of her heels clicking through the grand hallway like gunshots. The silence was suffocating. A maid scurried past, her eyes avoiding Isabella’s. No greetings, no announcements.

Odd.

Isabella climbed the marbled stairs with rising irritation. Mike was in the hospital—fighting for his life—and this house was quieter than a graveyard. She needed Isla. Needed her loyalty, her cooperation—someone she could still control. Surely, the girl would be in her room, distressed by the news of Mike’s condition.

But when Isabella reached Isla’s door, it wasn’t locked. It stood ajar. She pushed it open fully and froze....