ra

voice quiet but laced with a terrifying stillness. "She is mine. And if you ever speak to her that way again, I will forget you are my moth

ion for his behavior at the restaurant, Isabel

dripping and shivering from the river-as he scooped Isabella into his a

d right

manded, his voice d

hut, I saw it. A faint, triumpha

and the steady beep of a heart monitor.

xpression grim. He didn't ask if I was okay. He d

oice flat and clinical. "I'm sending you back t

the gut. He was twisting the trauma he had in

divorce her?" I asked,

he window at the city lights.

ago, a promise of a future that had been stolen. With a flick of my wrist, I

ut to say something, but a nurse appeared in

ife has a headache.

anything," he said to me over his shoulder,

food in sterile containers and bottles of nutritional supplements, leaving them on the tab

phone buzzed. It was a messag

u? What is

link. I c

red my soul into for my application to the Parisian academy. They we

der the collect

bella Ross

student-me-of blatant plagiarism, of trying

e world had access to that portfolio. On

nt

ling as I hailed a cab. I had to s

ing. As I stumbled from the cab toward the entrance, my gaze was snag

ISABELLA MORETTI AS THE ARTIST BEHIND THE 'ECHOES