The next morning, the air in the mansion was thick with an unspoken tension. Isla hadn’t slept well. She lay awake most of the night, haunted by Vincent’s presence in their lives. She had wanted to storm into Dante’s room and demand answers, but her exhaustion had kept her rooted in place.
Amara’s cheerful laughter broke the silence of the house as she toddled into the kitchen. “Mommy, look! I made pancakes with Daddy!” she announced, holding a slightly burnt pancake in her small hands.
Isla glanced up from her seat at the dining table, her lips twitching into a smile despite her mood. “You did? That’s amazing, sweetheart.”
Dante followed behind Amara, an apron slung over his broad shoulders and a sheepish expression on his face. “She insisted on helping.”
“I can see that,” Isla replied, her tone cooler as her eyes met his.
Amara didn’t notice the tension between her parents. She climbed onto a chair, babbling about how she mixed the batter and flipped the pancakes “just like a chef.”
Isla brushed a strand of hair from Amara’s face, her heart softening at her daughter’s excitement. “You’re a very talented little chef,” she said gently.
“Daddy said we can have pancakes every day!” Amara declared proudly.
Isla arched an eyebrow at Dante, who smirked in return. “Did he now?”
“Only if Mommy says it’s okay,” Dante added, taking a seat across from Isla. His eyes lingered on her, searching for some sign of forgiveness.
—
After breakfast, Dante cornered Isla in the hallway as Amara ran off to play. “We need to talk,” he said firmly.
“Do we?” Isla retorted, folding her arms across her chest.
“Yes.” His tone left no room for argument. “About yesterday.”
Isla let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to have this conversation right now, Dante.”
“Well, too bad,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re upset, and I get it. But shutting me out isn’t going to solve anything.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “You want to talk about solving things? Then explain why you let your father take our daughter on a picnic!”
“I was with her the entire time,” Dante said, his voice steady. “He didn’t get a moment alone with her.”
“That’s not the point!” Isla exclaimed, her voice rising. “You opened the door for him, Dante. You let him into her life, into our lives. And for what? To keep the peace? To protect some twisted sense of loyalty to your father?”
Dante’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back. “It’s not about loyalty. It’s about control. If we push him away completely, he’ll find another way in, something worse. At least this way, I can keep an eye on him.”
Isla shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is. He’s already manipulating you, and now he’s using Amara to do it.”
Dante’s voice softened, but his resolve remained. “I understand more than you think, Isla. I’m not letting him hurt her. Or you.”
Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. “I want to believe you, Dante. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.”
“It won’t be,” Dante said, his voice firm. “I won’t let it.”
—
Later that day, Vincent called again. Dante answered the phone in his study, his expression hardening as his father’s smooth voice filled the room.
“Dante, my boy. I trust yesterday’s outing was enjoyable?” Vincent began, his tone light but with an undercurrent of authority.
“What do you want, Father?” Dante asked, skipping the pleasantries.
Vincent chuckled. “So direct, as always. Very well. I’d like to visit again. Perhaps spend some time with Amara here at the mansion.”
Dante’s grip on the phone tightened. “That’s not happening.”
“Now, now,” Vincent chided. “Let’s not be unreasonable. I’m her grandfather, after all. Surely you wouldn’t deny me the chance to bond with my family?”
“I’ll consider it,” Dante said through gritted teeth before hanging up.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t a battle he could win outright, not without putting Isla and Amara in more danger. But he needed a plan.
—
Meanwhile, Isla sat in the nursery with Amara, watching her daughter stack blocks into a precarious tower. The simple scene brought a small measure of peace, but it was short-lived.
“Mommy, is Grandpa Vincent nice?” Amara asked suddenly, tilting her head to look up at Isla.
The question caught Isla off guard. “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”
Amara shrugged. “He gave me a flower. But you don’t like him, do you?”
Isla hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Grandpa Vincent is… complicated. But Mommy and Daddy will always keep you safe, no matter what.”
Amara nodded solemnly, her tiny fingers fiddling with the blocks. “Okay.”
Isla kissed the top of her head, her resolve strengthening. She needed to protect Amara from Vincent, even if it meant standing up to Dante again.
—
That night, Dante found Isla in the library, her face buried in a book she wasn’t actually reading. He approached cautiously, unsure of how to start.
“Isla,” he said softly, pulling out the chair across from her.
She looked up, her expression guarded. “What now?”
“My father called again,” he admitted.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “What did he want?”
“To visit the mansion. To spend time with Amara here.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told him I’d consider it,” Dante said, watching her reaction carefully.
Isla’s eyes flared with anger. “You what? Are you serious, Dante?”
“Relax,” he said quickly. “I’m not agreeing to anything. But I need time to figure out how to handle him.”
She stood abruptly, pacing the room. “You’re playing right into his hands. Can’t you see that?”
Dante stood as well, his tone firm. “I’m trying to protect us, Isla. This isn’t easy for me either, but I’m doing what I think is best.”
She stopped, facing him with tears in her eyes. “I’m scared, Dante. Scared of what he’ll do to Amara, to us. And I’m scared that you won’t see it until it’s too late.”
He stepped closer, his hands gently gripping her arms. “I see it, Isla. I see everything. And I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.”
For a moment, she let herself lean into him, her defenses crumbling. But the shadow of Vincent’s presence loomed over them, a reminder that their fight was far from over.