Chapter 7: Isla's Loyalty?

Morning came slowly, filtered through the silver curtains of Mara's room. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was-until her eyes landed on the fancy chandelier, the carved walls, and the endless ocean outside her balcony. This place wasn't home. It didn't belong to her. There was a soft knock at the door, almost shy. "Come in," Mara called. Isla entered with a tray of breakfast. She moved carefully, her gaze lowered as if she were afraid to take up too much space. She placed the tray on the table by the window and finally spoke. "Mr. Blackwood asked that you eat before the day begins." Mara frowned. "You don't have to call him that when you're with me. Damon is-" She hesitated. What was he now? Her protector? Her captor? Something in between? Isla glanced up, her lips twitching into the faintest smile. "Habit, miss. Everyone here calls him that. It's... safer." "Safer?" Mara repeated. At that, Isla's expression changed, becoming guarded like a door being shut. She focused on pouring tea, but Mara noticed the flicker of worry in her eyes. Mara took a breath. "Isla, how long have you worked for Damon?" "Since before his father died," Isla said. "I was a child, just like him. My family owes the Blackwoods, and this is how we pay that debt." Mara's chest tightened. Service that looked more like servitude. "And are you loyal to him?" Isla's hands paused over the teacup. 'I have no choice,' she said quietly. The weight of it lingered. The weight of her words lingered in the air. "Why didn't I meet you before?" "I'm not always around." It seems she didn't really know Damon. Being a friend with him for over 15 years and still know nothing about him. Later, as Mara followed Isla down the staircase, Damon had already vanished somewhere in the villa, leaving an awkward silence between them. The quiet was only broken by Isla's soft voice as she pointed out different parts of the house. "This hall is reserved for guests, though there are none now. Most of the doors you see are locked-don't try to open them." "Why not?" Mara asked. Isla's footsteps faltered. "Because Mr. Blackwood doesn't like questions." Mara studied her closely. Isla looked young, maybe only a few years older than her, but there was a weariness in her eyes. "Do you trust him?" Mara whispered. Isla froze. Her fingers tightened around the railing. "Trust doesn't matter in this world. Only survival but yes I do." That afternoon, Mara sat in the garden with Isla, the sea breeze tousling her hair. The roses bloomed in a way that was almost too perfect, too red, as if even beauty here was sharpened into a weapon. Mara sat on a bench, letting out a heavy sigh. "I feel like I can't breathe in this place." For the first time, Isla met her eyes directly. "You're not alone in that." Something in her tone cracked the coldness around Mara's heart. She reached out, touching Isla's hand lightly. "Then... will you be honest with me? Just you and me. No Damon. No secrets." Isla hesitated, her lips trembling as if pondering a heavy risk. Finally, she nodded. "I'll be honest when I can. But, Mara, you must never repeat what I say. Not even to him. If you do..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There are punishments in this house worse than death." A chill ran down Mara's spine. That night, when Mara returned to her room, she noticed something strange. A slip of paper had been tucked beneath her pillow. She unfolded it with shaking hands. Walls have ears. Trust carefully. No signature. No handwriting she recognized. Her heart raced as she glanced at the closed door, shadows dancing beneath it from the hallway torches. Was it Isla? Or someone else watching her every move? For the first time since entering the villa, Mara realized that Damon's enemies weren't the only ones she had to fear. There were secrets inside these walls, too.