Isla’s POV
I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing until Isabella reached across the counter and gently slid a small plate of lemon biscuits toward me.
“Elena,” she repeated softly, as if the name itself deserved reverence. “My sister.”
The word sister settled into the room, quiet, suffocating, and unavoidable.
I forced my fingers to loosen slightly around my teacup, terrified I might drop it and shatter the fragile composure I was clinging to.
“I… didn’t know you were related,” I said carefully.
My voice sounded calm. Inside, questions were already forming sharp, jagged edges against my ribs.
Isabella nodded slowly, lowering her gaze to her tea like she was watching memories swirl inside the cup.
“We weren’t always close,” she admitted. “But blood is blood. And losing her…” She
