Page 122 of In Shadows We Dance

"From what? From living? From having a life? From actually existing?"

"From peoplewho would hurt you."

"Like you hurt my real father?" I spit the words out. "When you chose to leave him?"

"That was different." She looks away. "Victor ... he wasn’t a good man."

"But he wasmyfather. And you took me from him."

Her lips tighten. "To save you. To give you a chance at something else."

"Something else?" I laugh, the sound rough and bitter. "You mean no life at all. Just ... a shadow existence. Never allowed to be real."

Her gaze turns back to me, something raw in her expression. "And you were content with that. Until him."

"Wren didn’t make me feel invisible.” I whisper.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing my arm, but I pull away. "Everything we did?—"

"Was about control." I rise, the need to move overpowering. "Just like my real father. But in a different way."

"We love you."

"You don’t even know me.Idon’t know me!" My voice breaks, years of frustration pouring out. "If you loved me,reallyloved me, you’d let me live. You’d let me be more than just someone to hide. You need to let me discover who I am. Who Isabella Rossi was meant to be."

Her face twists, her breath catching. "And who is that? This girl who lets a boy leave marks on her skin? Who defies everything we taught her about staying safe?"

I think about the way Wren's hands felt, how he traced the curve of my neck, his lips brushing against my skin, leaving behind more than just marks. He makes me feel alive in ways I never imagined. He makes me want things—to be touched, to be seen, to be wanted.

“You made a choice once, didn’t you? You left Victor Rossi. You walked away. You fought for freedom. Why can’t I do the same?”

She wipes her tears away. "That was different."

"Was it? Or are you just scared because I’m making the same choice? Because I’m done letting people decide who I get to be?"

She turns, her face crumpling. "Ileana?—"

"Isabella.Just like Annetta isn’t Maria. We’re both living lies."

"To survive."

"No." I shake my head. "To hide. But I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to survive. I want to live."

Her eyes glisten, her lip trembling. "Even if it gets you killed?"

"Even if it burns," I whisper, thinking of Wren’s eyes, the way he looked at me. "I’d rather burn bright than fade away."

"Ten minutes," Agent Miller calls through the door. "Then we move."

My mother turns to me, her gaze searching my face. "You’re not going to stay hidden this time, are you?"

"No." The truth feels like freedom. "I'm done being invisible."

She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, something has changed in her expression—understanding, maybe acceptance.

"He'll come for you." It's not quite a question.

"Yes." I have to believe that.

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