Sloane slipped the photograph into her clutch before Mateo could see it.
He was watching the doorway where Diana had disappeared, his expression dark. "What did she give you?"
"Nothing." The word came out too fast.
Mateo's eyes snapped to her face. "Sloane."
"She congratulated me. That's all."
He didn't believe her. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his hand tightened on her waist. But before he could press, a man in a suit approached—the same man who'd been standing beside Mateo at the altar.
"Mateo, we need to talk. Rossi is making moves."
Mateo looked at Sloane, hesitation flickering across his face. "Stay here. Don't talk to anyone without me. And don't leave the ballroom."
He walked away with the man, leaving her alone in the middle of the dance floor.
Sloane didn't wait. She slipped through the crowd, heading for the nearest exit. Her heart was pounding, the photograph burning a hole in her clutch.
She found a side door that led to a garden path, dimly lit, empty. The estate's gardens stretched into darkness, hedges and fountains and hidden benches. She ducked behind a tall hedge, pulled out the photograph, and stared at it.
Her mother. Alive. Smiling. Standing next to Diana Rossi like they were old friends.
The address on the back was in Veridian City—a neighborhood she knew. Not far from where she grew up. A place called Pier 3, an abandoned warehouse district near the docks.
She pulled out her phone and typed the address into maps. Twenty minutes away.
"I wouldn't."
She spun. Isabella Rivas stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her earlier hostility now mixed with something that looked almost like pity.
"I wouldn't go there if I were you," Isabella said.
"How do you know where I'm going?"
"I saw Diana give you something. And I know that look. You're about to do something stupid."
Sloane tucked the photograph back into her clutch. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Isabella moved closer. She was younger than Sloane had thought—maybe twenty‑two or twenty‑three, with the same sharp features as Mateo, but softer. Less hardened. "Let me guess: Diana told you she knows where your mother is. She gave you an address. And now you're going to sneak off to meet her, because you think Mateo is hiding something from you."
Sloane stared at her. "How do you know about my mother?"
"Because Mateo isn't the only one who does research." Isabella leaned against a stone bench, her expression unreadable. "I know who you are, Sloane Mitchell. I know your mother worked for my father before he died. I know she disappeared the night he was killed. And I know my brother has been looking for her for years."
"He told me he wants to help me find her."
Isabella laughed, a bitter sound. "He wants to find her because she knows who killed our father. He doesn't care about you. He cares about revenge."
"I know my brother." Isabella's voice softened. "I'm not telling you this to hurt you. I'm telling you because if you go to that address, you'll be walking into a trap. Diana doesn't work alone. She works for her father."
"Antonio Rossi."
"The same man who wanted Mateo to marry her. The same man who's been trying to destroy our family for twenty years." Isabella stepped closer, her voice dropping. "He's using your mother as bait to get to Mateo. And you're about to bite."
Sloane's hand tightened on her clutch. "If it's a trap, why are you warning me?"
Isabella's expression flickered. "Because I know what it's like to be used by the people who are supposed to protect you. And because—" She stopped, as if deciding how much to say. "Because my brother is a lot of things, but he didn't marry you just to find your mother. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you tonight."
Before Sloane could respond, a voice cut through the garden.
"Isabella."
Mateo stood at the entrance to the path, his face shadowed. His eyes moved from Isabella to Sloane, calculating, assessing.
Isabella straightened, her mask of hostility sliding back into place. "I was just congratulating the bride."
"Were you."
"She seems nice. Try not to ruin her."Isabella brushed past Mateo and disappeared into the house.
Mateo walked toward Sloane, stopping close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The garden was quiet now, the music from the reception a distant hum.
"What did she say to you?"
"She warned me about Diana."
His expression tightened. "Good. She was right to."
"She also said you're using me to find your father's killer."
The silence stretched. Mateo's jaw worked, but he didn't deny it.
"I told you," he said finally. "I want to find your mother. The truth about what happened to her is connected to what happened to my father. That doesn't mean I'm using you."
"Doesn't it?"
He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm, his grip gentle but unyielding.
"When my father was killed, I was twenty‑two. I inherited a war. I've spent twelve years trying to build something that would honor his memory and protect my family." His voice was low, intense. "Your mother was there that night. She saw what happened. She knows who pulled the trigger. For twelve years, I've been searching for her. And then you showed up."
"And you saw an opportunity."
"I saw a chance to give you what you needed while getting what I needed." He lifted her hand to his chest, pressing it flat against his heart. She could feel it beating, steady and strong. "But that's not why I'm standing here right now."
"Then why?"
He looked down at her, and for a moment, the mask slipped. She saw something raw underneath—hunger, maybe, or loneliness, or something she didn't have a name for.
"Because when you walked down that aisle, I stopped thinking about the past. I started thinking about the future." He released her hand and stepped back. "That wasn't part of the plan."
Before she could respond, a scream echoed from inside the house. Mateo's face went pale. "Isabella." He ran toward the mansion, and Sloane followed, her hear
t pounding. When they burst through the doors, they found the ballroom in chaos—and Isabella was gone.