59. Shadows at the Door

CHAPTER 59

Shadows at the Door

ILEANA

“Where have you been?”

My father’s voice cuts through the darkness. He’s sitting at my desk, face obscured by shadows, the moonlight highlighting the rigid line of his shoulders.

“I needed air.” The lie feels clumsy and obvious, and I’m certain he knows. Wren’s marks burn beneath my clothes, hot and damning. The truths he gave me are a noise I can’t silence.

“At four in the morning?” He stands up, face carved into something unfamiliar. The man in front of me isn’t the father I grew up with. He’s a stranger wearing his skin. The sharp set of his jaw, the tension radiating from his shoulders. It’s all familiar, yet wrong. A mask I’ve never looked at closely enough to see how it doesn’t fit quite right. “Since when do you sneak out?”

His suspicion should hurt, should make me retreat into compliance, but this time it only feeds the fire that Wren ignited. This time, anger shoves any fear aside, and I let it burn free. “Maybe since I realized everything about my life is a lie.”

The words land like a grenade in the middle of the room. My father stills. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for the first time, I see clearly what he’s been hiding. His expression cracks, ever so slightly, and the truth starts to show through.

“What are you talking about?” And because I’m waiting for it, I can hear the off-note to his voice.

Sixteen years of silence. Sixteen years of hiding. I could shatter it all right now. I could tell him I know about Victor Rossi, about my mom’s real name, about the operation that turned my life into someone else’s. I could tell him that I know he’s not really my father. The words are on the tip of my tongue, ready to strike … and then the soft tread of footsteps stops me.

Mom appears in the doorway, hair falling loose around her shoulders. She picks up on the tension in the room straight away, and her eyes move between us.

“James?”

Before either of us can say anything, there’s a knock at the door. It’s not loud, but in the quiet of the morning, it rips through the tension. The second knock is harder, more insistent.

“If that’s the boy who called the other day …”

“It’s not!” Please, don’t be Wren. He promised he’d meet me at school.

“Stay here.” He turns toward the hallway, expecting me to do as he says, like I always do. But I’m different now. Wren has freed something inside me. I follow him through the apartment, and stand to one side while he opens the door.

A man stands in the doorway. He’s taller than my father, dressed in a crisp dark suit. He exudes authority, the kind that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud. He steps inside without an invitation, his presence filling the small space. Something about him raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He doesn’t belong here, in our cluttered little apartment, but he fills it anyway.

“James.”

“Miller,” my father replies, his voice losing its usual warmth, replaced with something distant, wary.

The stranger’s eyes move past him, landing on me. There’s nothing there. No kindness, no curiosity, just the cold eyes of someone used to issuing demands and expecting compliance.

“We have a problem. Someone has been asking questions about your background.”

My stomach drops. I don’t need to hear anymore. I know exactly what he means. Wren warned me about this. About the people who built this lie, who buried my name so deep I could never dig it out. The ones who erased us.

“We need to relocate you. ”

Relocate? The word slams into me. They’re going to take us away. Pull us out of Silverlake Rapids. They want to take me away from everything. From the dance studio.

Away from Wren.

“When?” my father asks.

“Now. Your location is compromised.”

“No!” The word tears out of me before I can stop it. It hangs between us, loud and defiant. The man in the suit turns his gaze on me like I’m an inconvenient bug.

“You can’t just decide to take us away. I won’t go.”

“Ileana—” My father’s voice is a warning. Yesterday it would have been enough to silence me. But not today. Not anymore.

“I know who you really are.” My voice rises. “ Agent Charleston . The man who infiltrated the Rossi family. The man who tore me away from my real life. From my real father.”

Miller’s head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. My father’s mask falls away completely, and beneath it, I see a man I don’t recognize. Someone guilty. Someone afraid. Mom makes a choked sound behind me.

“I won’t let you erase me again!” The words come out stronger, steadier now. “I won’t let you destroy everything just because you’re afraid someone has found you.”

“You have no idea what kind of danger—” my father begins, his voice rising, but I cut him off, the words pouring out before fear can stop me.

“Then tell me! Stop hiding behind your lies and tell me the truth! What are you so afraid of? What’s worth destroying any chance I have at a real life?” My voice breaks, the desperation finally breaking through, each word a plea for answers I’ve waited too long for.

Miller’s face remains impassive, watching, his silence almost more terrifying than his words. The air between us is taut, ready to snap.

“This isn’t up for debate. Pack your things. You have thirty minutes before clean-up gets here.”

“No!”

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect you, Ileana,” my father says, his voice quieter now, and I can hear the weariness in it.

“Protect?” A bitter laugh spills from my lips. “You call this protection? You’ve kept me locked away, hidden from the world. You taught me to fade into the background. I’m not safe, I’m trapped . You made me a prisoner of your fear.”

“James,” Miller interrupts, his tone clipped, “we need to move.”

I shake my head, my voice steady with newfound resolve. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me disappear again.”

My father steps toward me, his eyes softening. “Ileana, please?—”

“Stop calling me that.” I can’t stand it anymore. “My name is Isabella. That’s who I am, isn’t it? Isabella Rossi. How many other lies have you told me? How many truths are you still keeping from me?”

Mom stumbles back, her face crumbling. My father reaches for her, but she pulls away, like my words have burned through something between them. I look at them both, and the silence that follows feels like the edge of a cliff.

“How much of my life is even real?”

Neither of them answer. They can’t.

“I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.” I turn and walk back to my room, shaking with everything I’m holding inside. When I close the door behind me, I press my back to it, and slide to the floor.

Through the thin wood, Miller’s voice reaches me, cold and clear. “This isn’t optional, James.”

My lips twist. Let them try to move me. Let them think they can keep deciding my life. I won’t let them bury me in their lies again.

I press my palm to my throat, holding it in place the way Wren does .

For the first time in my life, I know who I am, and I’m not letting them take that away from me.

I’m done being invisible. I’m done being afraid.

I’m done letting other people decide who I get to be.