Carlos felt hollow. He had nothing left to sell but furniture and tools. The days blurred into desperate attempts to raise money. At night, Ava found her father asleep over documents—contracts stamped with official seals, receipts bearing names that now felt poisonous.
“The police won’t move quickly,” Carlos admitted one dawn, voice hoarse. “Men like him have connections.”
Behind the wall, Isabella listened. Something fragile but fierce flickered inside her.
The next afternoon, the girls went to their Aunt Laura, Sofia’s younger sister. Laura worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy entrepreneur named Mr. Jonathan Reed. His estate was enormous—marble floors, fountains in the garden, air scented with wealth and polish.
“Stay quiet,” Laura warned nervously. “Mr. Reed has an important meeting.”
Ava drifted off on a sofa. Isabella wandered toward the hallway and froze.
A laugh echoed through the house.
Her stomach clenched.
It was the same laugh she remembered from their store—the laugh of Ethan Blake.