The sea air, heavy with salt and an undercurrent of expensive wood polish, felt strangely stifling inside the Brettons' lavish beach house. My scruffy ankle boots, usually a source of comfort, now felt absurdly out of place against the gleaming marble floors.

Parker's reassuring arm draped over my shoulder was the only anchor I had as we moved deeper into the opulent space. Nolan, bless his boisterous heart, bounded over, his attempt at a cheek kiss skillfully thwarted by Parker's palm. The familiar banter between them was a welcome distraction, a momentary reprieve from the swirling vortex of nerves in my stomach.

Then, the clicking of sharp heels on marble. Adelaide Bretton, Kaden's mother, descended the stairs like a regal storm cloud, her expression a perfectly coiffed mask. She gave Parker a curt nod before her gaze, cold and assessing, fixed on me. "Come with me, Isla. Both of you – stay," she commanded, silencing Nolan's muttered complaints about dogs.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile for Parker, who watched me with a faint, anxious concern. Following Adelaide up two flights of stairs, past a formidable bodyguard, my heart hammered against my ribs. We stopped before a large door. Adelaide turned, and for a fleeting second, I saw something painful, bittersweet, in her eyes.

"Sometimes," she said, her voice low, "the best of lies are meant to hide the most painful of truths. Do anything it takes to convince him."

Before I could even nod, she pushed the doors open. Sunlight flooded the room, dazzling me. And there, lounging in a window-seat, his figure silhouetted against the bright light, was Kaden. A tell-tale piece of gauze around his head confirmed his blindness.

Adelaide's voice, with a tremor I almost missed, broke the silence. "Kaden... Evangeline's here."