Chapter 111

ISABELLA

I woke up the next morning still feeling the weight of yesterday's revelations pressing on my chest. Sleep had done little to ease the confusion swirling in my mind, and I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea of my mother’s family being werewolf hunters. How could something like this have been hidden from me for so long?

As I slowly got out of bed, I heard a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock—early, but not too early for Alex to drop by unannounced. He’d been protective, almost brotherly, ever since the news about Dominic. I appreciated it more than I let on, but today I wasn’t sure if I could handle another conversation about the past.

While the boys are away on an appointment, I opened the door to see him standing there, looking a little more serious than usual.

"Hey, Isa," Alex greeted, stepping inside. "We need to talk."

My stomach twisted. "About what?"

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries, and that was when I knew this wasn’t just a friendly visit.

"I’ve been thinking about everything you told me. About your mom’s family," he said, running a hand through his hair. "There has to be more to this story. Mark must’ve found out something specific, and I think you might have the key to figuring it out." Last night, I was so shocked that I called him to tell him everything.

I frowned, leaning against the wall as a wave of fatigue hit me. “I don’t understand how he even found out. I don’t have anything, no documents or family keepsakes… I never met my mother’s side of the family. They were practically a myth.”

Alex gave me a thoughtful look, and then his expression shifted as if he’d come to a decision. “What if we look through your boxes? There might be something—anything—that can give us a clue. Something your dad might have hidden or forgotten to tell you.”

For a second, I hesitated. Did I really want to open up those boxes again? Most of my things from childhood and from my parents were locked away in boxes I hadn't touched in years. They were painful reminders of everything I’d lost.

But after a moment, I nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

We spent the next hour combing through the dusty boxes that had been shoved into the back of a storage closet in the penthouse. Old photos, birthday cards, some random trinkets, but nothing that screamed “secret werewolf hunters” or explained how Mark had uncovered this part of my family’s history.

I was just about to give up when I stumbled across a small wooden box I didn’t recognize. It was tucked under a stack of old notebooks from high school, but the craftsmanship was delicate, almost too fine to be mine. My fingers traced the intricate carvings on the lid, and I hesitated for a second before opening it.

Inside, there was a single envelope—yellowed with age and a little tattered around the edges. The handwriting on the front was familiar, but seeing it made my blood run cold. It was my mother’s. But that wasn’t what made my heart skip a beat.

It was the date. The letter was dated two weeks after her death.

The room seemed to tilt on its axis, and I had to grab the back of the couch to steady myself. This wasn’t possible. My mother was gone—had been gone for years. She’d died in that car accident, and I’d mourned her. I’d buried her.

But here was this letter, written in her hand, dated after her death.

“What the hell…” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Alex moved closer, his brow furrowed in concern. “Isa? What is it?”

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. I was too busy staring at the letter, my mind racing with impossible thoughts. Did this mean my mother was still alive? Had her death been faked? Why would she leave me behind?

I shakily pulled the letter from the envelope, my heart pounding in my chest as I unfolded the paper. My hands were trembling so much that I could barely read the words, but I forced myself to focus.

The letter was brief, the handwriting rushed, as if she’d written it in a hurry. But the first line sent a shockwave through me:

“My dearest Isabella, if you’re reading this, then I didn’t make it in time…”

I gasped, the paper slipping from my fingers and fluttering to the floor.

Alex’s voice was distant, muffled, like he was speaking underwater. “Isa, are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

But I couldn’t respond. My mother… she’d known something. She’d known she was in danger. And she’d tried to reach me, tried to leave me a message, but it had gotten lost. Hidden. Forgotten. Until now.

The room started spinning, and a wave of nausea rolled over me.

My mind raced with too many thoughts. Had she faked her death? Was she still alive? Had someone else forced her to disappear? I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me, everything I thought I knew about my past was unraveling, and the threads of it all were slipping through my fingers.

I tried to focus on Alex’s voice, but the panic was building too fast, too strong. My vision blurred, the edges of the room growing darker and darker until I couldn’t see anything at all.

The last thing I heard before everything went black was Alex shouting my name.