Chapter 17: Hidden Truth

Isabella’s POV

Sleep was something I could only wish for that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother—terrified, screaming, being dragged away by strangers. The sound of her voice haunted the walls of my mind. I felt useless. I hated how I couldn’t do anything, how I had just stood there while she was taken.

I tossed and turned until the sky began to lighten. My pillow was damp from silent tears. There was this ache in my chest that refused to ease. I sat up, wiped my face, and stared at the laptop sitting at the corner of my desk. It had been years since I last touched it, but tonight… something inside me pushed me toward it.

My hands trembled as I turned it on. The hum of the old system filled the silence. I opened the browser and typed a name I never thought I’d search again.

Paul Davidson.

The second I pressed enter, my stomach tightened. His pictures loaded one after another, his sharp cheekbones, the same cold eyes, the same orange prison jumpsuit. I scrolled through the search results, but there was no new information. He was still in prison.

And then I saw it.

A line of text that made my vision blur for a second:

Sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Alyssa DeLuca and attempted murder of Isabella Fisher (his daughter).

I slammed the laptop shut so hard the sound echoed through the room. My name… reading it there, attached to that horror, dragged me right back to that night. The blood. The fear. The sound of my own screaming. I pressed my hands to my ears, shaking my head as tears burned down my cheeks.

“Lord, please,” I whispered shakily, “please don’t let this happen again.”

I sat on the floor, hugging my knees. I didn’t blink again until the faint orange of dawn started to spill through my curtains. When I finally dragged myself to the mirror, I didn’t even recognize the girl staring back. Red, swollen eyes. Pale lips. My heart felt like it was made of glass, one breath away from breaking.

I needed to run.

Maybe if I ran far enough, I could leave the thoughts behind.

But before that, I needed something hot to drink. Something to burn the tightness in my throat.

The mansion was quiet when I walked into the kitchen. My bare feet padded across the cold tiles. The smell of roasted coffee beans lingered faintly in the air. I reached for a cup on the top shelf, it was too high, as usual. I stretched on my toes, grumbling under my breath.

Then a voice came from behind me, deep and teasing.

“Good morning, sorellina.”

I jumped, nearly dropping the jar I was holding. My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Relax,” Enzo said, stepping out from the shadows of the doorway. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t sneak up on people like that,” I muttered, trying to calm my breathing.

He chuckled softly, walking closer. His hair was a little messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed, but somehow he still managed to look effortlessly perfect. There was that half-smile again—the one that made him look both dangerous and heartbreakingly human.

“I didn’t see you there,” I said, stretching again for the cup.

Before I could grab it, strong hands wrapped around my waist. My breath caught as he lifted me up easily, his fingers brushing against my skin where my shirt had ridden up.

“Enzo,” I hissed, gripping the cabinet.

“Just get what you need so I can drop you,” he said, voice low and amused.

I grabbed the cup quickly, my pulse beating too fast. When he set me down, I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

“You don’t have to show off every damn time.”

He smirked. “I wasn’t showing off. Just helping you, Bels.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue too easily. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide the small twitch at the corner of my lips.

Then his gaze lingered on my face longer than usual. “You look tired,” he said softly. “Didn’t sleep?”

I turned away. “Not really.”

He stepped closer, lowering himself a bit so we were face-to-face. His scent… clean and warm, with a hint of cedar wrapped around me.

“Your eyes are red,” he murmured, concern flickering in his eyes. “You’ve been crying.”

I looked down, gripping the cup tightly. “I’m fine, Enzo.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “But I told you, your mom is safe. She’ll be back today.”

My head shot up. “And you’re certain?”

He nodded, unwavering. “A hundred percent.”

I wanted to believe him so badly that it hurt. There was something in his tone, it was calm and steady that made me almost forget the chaos surrounding us. But my mind kept whispering doubts. How does he know? Why is he so sure?

I brushed past him, shaking my head. “You keep saying that, but you never explain anything. I’m tired of being left in the dark.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Bella—”

“No,” I snapped, turning to face him. “Don’t ‘Bella’ me. I deserve to know what’s happening!”

Before he could reply, a familiar voice echoed through the hall.

“Isabella!”

I froze.

It couldn’t be.

I turned toward the door, my heart skipping a beat. My mom stood there, alive, whole, with tears glistening in her eyes.

“Mom!” I screamed, the cup slipping from my hand as I ran toward her. I threw my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I could, afraid she’d vanish if I let go.

She smelled like home. Like the faint lavender perfume she always wore. I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Sweetheart,” she whispered, her own voice breaking, “I’m okay. I’m okay, baby.”

I pulled back, searching her face for bruises, for any sign of harm. “They didn’t hurt you?”

She shook her head, though her eyes told a different story, something had happened. Something she wasn’t saying.

Even with my mother safe in my arms, the danger wasn’t over.

Whatever Enzo knew, whatever he was hiding, it was only the beginning.