Isla’s POV
My phone vibrated across the coffee table like a warning. For a moment, I stared at it, steam from my tea curling up into the air, pretending I didn’t see the name flashing across the screen.
Silas.
Of course. He couldn’t let things rest for even twenty-four hours.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but something in me wanted to hear what he’d sound like now. Guilt? Arrogance? Triumph?
I pressed answer and held the phone to my ear.
“Isla,” he said, my name soft on his lips . “Where are you?”
My chest went tight. “None of your business,” I said flatly. “Why are you calling?”
There was a pause. Then a low chuckle, lazy and deliberate.
“You left. After I paid you ten grand to shoot the whole thing.”
The money. He’d gone straight for the money. Wow, just wow.
“I didn’t aban
