One-night stand with cheating fiancé's uncle

Isla Turner saw exactly what he was playing at, and cut off every last way he could reach her. So he tracked down her childhood home, went and put their relationship out in the open, and that’s how she ended up getting summoned home for dinner by her mom.

Her mom, who was usually on her case about everything, greeted her with a smile that didn’t feel right, and said, "There you are. Why didn’t you tell us sooner you were dating Vicente?"

Mack, who was always pale and worn down from his illness, lit up with excitement the second she walked through the door. He hurried over to her, bubbling, "Sis, your fiancé’s here!"

Only he knew how crazy Isla was about Vicente Wood, and he was genuinely happy for her—he thought they’d finally made it work for good.

Vicente was wearing a crisp white suit that oozed old-money charm, and he stepped forward to take the pasta dish she’d carried from her place. "Isla, let me take that for you."

But behind that soft, gentlemanly act—what other agenda was he hiding?

Isla set the pasta down on the entryway table, ignoring the thrilled grins all around her. Emotional manipulation didn’t work on her, not anymore. She kept her voice even when she spoke: "Mom, it’s true Vicente and I dated. But we broke up last night."

Her mom blinked in surprise for half a second, then brushed it off: "Young couples fight all the time. Vicente drove all the way out here to make this right. Stop being stubborn and go get ready for dinner."

"Vicente’s our guest, Isla. Have some respect, don’t embarrass this family," her father added, sharp as a tack.

Isla’s eyes swept the living room: stacks of fancy gourmet chocolate, top-shelf whiskey, hand-rolled cigars, imported coffee. Her little brother Legacy was glued to his game console, didn’t even glance up to say hi. And her mom—who never wore jewelry that suited her plain style—had a brand new diamond necklace glinting like it was shouting for attention.

It was obvious. Her whole family had already been bought off by Vicente.

The sad thing was, Isla was the kind of person who’d rather hit a brick wall than back down. Once she decided to walk away, she never turned back.

She looked at Mack: "Take good care of Grandma. Mom, Dad, I’ve got a deadline at the office. I’m leaving."

She didn’t look over her shoulder as she walked out, but she heard Vicente’s smooth voice behind her: "Mr. and Mrs. Turner, please don’t be upset. It’s my fault Isla got the wrong idea. She’s got every right to be angry. You guys go ahead and enjoy dinner, I’ll go talk to her."

That good looks, the fancy family background, the calm, collected demeanor—all the things that had made Vicente seem absolutely perfect to Isla once upon a time—had all crumbled to ash after what went down last night.

Just as the elevator doors were sliding shut, a slim hand jammed between them to stop them. When she looked up, she was face to face with his handsome face, stretched into that familiar gentle smile. "Isla, give me five minutes to explain this to you face to face."

He stepped into the elevator with her, and the doors slid closed behind him. Even though he kept that soft, polite act up, his tall frame filled the small car, and it felt like the air was pressing in on her.

"Isla, Rhea Rodriguez is my mentor’s daughter. She’s young, and she’s not healthy, so everyone at the studio looks out for her. I swear to you, I’ve only ever thought of her as a little sister. If there was actually anything between us, I would’ve broken up with you already. Why would I be here begging you to forgive me if that wasn’t true?"

Isla held his gaze, unblinking. "Vicente, tons of guys have hit on me since we got together. I never took any of them to Disneyland, never went beach camping with them alone, never rented out a whole private theater for one of them. I definitely never went on a trip out of the country with one."

"Isla, my sister was with us at Disneyland! The camping was a whole studio group trip! And the overseas thing wasn’t even a vacation—I was there for a work conference, and she just happened to be in the same city, we only got dinner together!"

"So you expect me to buy that all of this is just a coincidence?"

Vicente rubbed a hand over his forehead, a flicker of irritation creeping into his tone. "I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth."

Isla’s stare stayed cold as ice. "Vicente, you say other people were there, but why is it that every single one of her social media posts only has you in the frame? She knew it was my birthday, and you were with me, and she still texted you begging you to come over. Are all those things just coincidences too? Can’t you see what that girl’s up to? She has a crush on you."

"Yeah, she likes me, but to me she’s just a sick little kid. She’s not a threat to us."

Isla couldn’t hold back the sharp, bitter laugh that burst out of her. "You let a girl who’s got feelings for you hang all over you. If she really wasn’t a threat, you never would’ve hidden her from me in the first place."

"Vicente, all I ever wanted was real love. The tiramisu you baked me, the birthday present you picked out for me—every single memory we have now has that woman’s fingerprints all over it. It makes me sick."

Isla pulled the birthday necklace he’d given her out of her bag and held it out to him. "Here. Take it back. From now on, we go our separate ways."

The elevator doors slid open, and she was just about to step out when Vicente wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Please, Isla, don’t do this. I only love you. Don’t let this ruin everything we built. I’m exhausted, I’ve been running around all day—"

Isla knew how swamped he was, knew he hadn’t slept a wink last night chasing after her. But even after all that, he still didn’t get what he did wrong.

He wasn’t even apologizing. He just thought she was being dramatic.

She’d once convinced herself he was different from all those other arrogant, selfish men out there. But now she saw it—he was exactly the same as all the rest.

She pried his fingers off her waist, one by one, slow and deliberate. "I’m not throwing a tantrum."

The doors opened again, and she walked out without a single glance back, only pausing for half a second at the lobby exit. "It wasn’t her that ruined us, Vicente. It was you."

"Let’s end this like adults."

She left him standing there, her silhouette cool and unyielding—and for a second, it blurred into an old high school memory: someone had put thumbtacks in her sneakers, she’d run down the hallway bleeding through her white socks, Vicente had offered to walk her to the nurse, and she’d turned him down, limping away on her own, her ponytail swinging sharp against her back. Past and present melted together, right there in front of him.

In that split second, Vicente felt a sharp twist in his chest—like he could already feel her slipping away.

But the feeling was gone just as fast as it came, and he huffed a quiet laugh. He’d worked his ass off to win Isla’s heart. They’d survived years of long distance, for god’s sake. How could some tiny little stupid fight break them apart?

Her cold shoulder was just proof she loved him, right? She was just jealous of Rhea.

Vicente didn’t take her breakup talk seriously at all. If anything, he thought it was kind of cute. He was finally getting to see her jealous side, after all this time.

He was just about to head out after her when his phone rang. He saw the name on the screen, frowned, but answered anyway.

A sweet, breathy voice came through the line: "Vicente, I just got into the city."

"I think I got lost, though… can you come pick me up?"

Vicente’s frown deepened. "Send me your location and stay where you are. I’ll be right there."

Isla had already hailed a cab on the side of the road, and she watched as Vicente’s car roared past her, speeding like he was late for something, didn’t even glance her way.

But they were broken up now. Where he was going didn’t matter to her anymore.

She texted her mom to pack up all her old stuff from the house. She’d send a courier over tomorrow to pick it up.

When her ride pulled up to a stop light, Isla spotted Vicente’s Bentley parked off to the side of the road.

She couldn’t help but glance over that way, and she saw a young woman jump straight into Vicente’s arms, grinning like she owned the place.

So that was who he was in such a damn hurry to meet.

Twenty minutes ago, he’d sworn he only loved her. And even after she walked out on him, he didn’t even bother to stay away from Rhea.

Of course that woman was special to him. How could she not be?

Isla looked away from the side mirror, closing her eyes to push the whole mess out of her head.

When she got back to her rented apartment, she headed straight to the kitchen to wash some vegetables, pretending everything was totally normal. While she was chopping, she nicked her finger pretty bad—bright red blood blooming against the pale green of her cucumber.

The sharp pain jerked her back to earth, and she stared at her cut, a dry, ironic smile tugging at her mouth. Everything would pass eventually, right?

She grabbed a band-aid out of the first aid kit, wrapped up her finger, and finished making her salad a minute later.

Even though it tasted like cardboard, she ate every last bite.

After she cleaned up the kitchen, she pulled out her sketchpad.

Isla had always been a natural artist, but her parents never wanted to waste money on art classes, so she’d taught herself everything she knows. Over the years, she’d picked up freelance illustration gigs to help pay for Mack’s medical bills.

Slowly but surely, she’d built up a little following online. Drawing was just how she passed the time, anyway.

By ten o’clock, her phone buzzed. A text from Damari Evans popped up, with a location pin attached.