Chapter 7 Uninvited Memories

Damien arrived at the estate just after noon, holding his recorder, notepad, and a heavy silence he couldn't shake.

Isabella had agreed to a formal interview, but the air between them had changed since the gala. Since the flash drive. Since her father's letter. What started as a story had evolved into something far more personal-and fragile.

She led him to the old greenhouse, now converted into a private sitting room. Glass walls framed the garden's lush overgrowth, and filtered sunlight lit her face like a painting. She wore soft cream silk and no makeup, her eyes tired but focused.

"You really want to do this here?" Damien asked, setting up.

"I like it here," Isabella replied. "Things grow in this room. Or they die. Depends on how much attention you give them."

He raised an eyebrow. "Poetic."

"Practical," she said with a faint smile.

He clicked on the recorder. The red light blinked. "Okay. For the record... Isabella Vaughn, daughter of the late Harold Vaughn, heir to Vaughn Group, currently residing at the Vaughn estate. Interview beginning July 3rd, 1:12 p.m."

She didn't flinch, but something in her posture stiffened.

"Let's start simple," Damien said. "Why did you come back?"

Isabella met his eyes. "Because I got tired of silence. And I realized someone had rewritten the story of my life without asking me first."

He nodded, jotting down notes. "What was your relationship like with your father?"

Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her chair.

"Complicated," she said. "He was powerful. Distant. But he loved me, in his way. He had secrets-but they weren't just his. The family was built on them."

"You think his death wasn't natural."

"I know it wasn't," she said flatly.

He paused. "Do you have proof?"

"Not yet. But I have a letter. His handwriting. Warnings. Mentions of things-of a ledger called Indigo. He was scared, Damien. He just didn't say who he was scared of."

His voice softened. "Do you think it was Celeste?"

Isabella hesitated. "There's a version of her I knew-older sister, protector, brilliant. But somewhere along the line, she learned how to weaponize control. I don't know who she is anymore."

Damien studied her. "And who are you now?"

She looked down at her hands. "A girl trying not to disappear in a house full of ghosts."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward.

It was heavy.

Personal.

"I should probably stick to questions that don't make you want to throw things at me," Damien said lightly.

Isabella smiled faintly. "You never were very good at soft questions."

"You never needed soft," he said. "You needed honesty."

She met his gaze then-level, searching.

"I needed you," she said quietly. "But you sold a piece of my truth. Without asking."

Damien looked away. "I know. And I haven't stopped regretting it."

There was a long pause.

Then she said, "Why did you come back?"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I mean here. To me. To this. You could've stayed away."

"I tried to," he said truthfully. "But then I saw your name again. And everything I buried started clawing its way back."

He shut off the recorder.

"I'm not here for a story anymore, Isabella. I'm here because I never stopped wondering what would've happened if I had protected you instead of writing about you."

That cracked something open in her-soft and dangerous.

"I don't know if I can trust you," she whispered.

"I don't know if I deserve it," he replied.

Neither of them moved.

The air between them shifted-thick with memory, remorse, and something fragile growing again. Like the vines curling along the greenhouse walls, reaching without promise.

He stood slowly. "I'll come back tomorrow. We'll go through the ledgers. Quietly. I'll help however I can."

She nodded, eyes unreadable.

As he reached the door, she called softly, "Damien?"

He turned.

She didn't smile. But her voice was warmer than it had been all day.

"Thanks... for not treating me like a headline."

He gave her the barest nod, then left.

Behind him, Isabella stared at the sun filtering through the glass.

And for the first time in a long time-

She didn't feel completely alone.

            
            

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