Chapter 21
ISABELLA
S even days.
Seven days since we landed back from Italy, and it’s been like living in a vacuum. A world made of silence and unanswered questions—one that keeps caving in on itself while everyone who should have answers disappears into the dark.
I stared at my phone again. The screen was black, no new messages, no missed calls, nothing but a reflection of the girl I didn’t even recognize anymore.
No calls from Anna. Not one.
Not even a single reply to the three messages I left. I didn’t want to sound desperate. I didn’t want to be desperate. But I was , and I was done pretending otherwise.
We used to talk every day. She always picked up. Always.
Even when I didn’t need anything. Even when it was just to hear her voice for five minutes, or ask her if she remembered the name of that bakery I liked when I was ten.
Now?
Nothing. Like she’d vanished.
And Rafael— Five days.
Five days of silence from him. No calls. No texts. No messages. Not even a damn one-word reply.
I swiped through the list of sent texts like it would change the outcome:
“Where are you?”
“Call me.”
“Rafael, this isn’t funny.”
“I need to know what’s going on.”
Read none. Answered none.
It made no sense. None of it did.
I knew him—or at least I thought I did. He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t tender. But he was consistent. He didn’t ignore. He didn’t disappear .
And yet here I was, sitting on the edge of my couch like the world had tilted off its axis and no one was bothering to explain why.
The worst part?
That gnawing sensation in the back of my mind. The one that whispered: Maybe you’re the only one not in on the truth. The only one still waiting for a call that was never going to come.
I stood abruptly, the blanket I had draped around my shoulders falling to the floor like it no longer mattered. I couldn’t sit still any longer. Couldn’t keep staring at the phone like it was going to suddenly blink to life with the truth.
If Rafael wouldn’t talk to me… If he was just going to disappear… Then I’d go to the one person who always answered.
Or used to. Anna.
She had to know something. Maybe she’d gotten sick. Maybe something had happened. Maybe—God, I don’t know— but whatever it was, I was going to find out. Because if she didn’t open that door, I was going to break it down myself.
I grabbed my jacket, barely noticing how my fingers trembled as I shoved my arms through the sleeves. The zipper clinked when I pulled it up, too loud in the silence of my apartment. I didn’t bother with my bag, my phone clenched in my hand like I expected it to buzz the second I left. It didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
The elevator ride down was slow. Too slow. The kind of descent that makes you feel like the walls are breathing around you, and all you can do is wait.
I leaned my head back against the cool metal wall and closed my eyes for a second. But my mind wouldn’t shut up.
I tried not to think about why Rafael was avoiding me. I tried not to think about the look in Anna’s eyes the last time I saw her. That quiet smile. That strange stillness. I tried not to think about the shift that happened after we returned from Italy—like the air itself had changed.
But trying didn’t matter anymore. Because everything in me was screaming that something was wrong. Deeply, violently wrong.
The elevator dinged and I stepped out, heading for the garage like I was chasing answers down a hallway full of locked doors.
My boots echoed off the concrete as I approached my car. The remote beeped and the engine purred to life, but even that sound didn’t settle me.
I climbed in, shoved the key in the ignition, and sat there for a second with my hand on the steering wheel.
Then I hit Call.
Anna’s name flashed across the screen. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail. No.
No, I wasn’t doing this again.
I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out of the garage, the tires screeching softly as I turned onto the road. The city lights blurred past the windshield, but my eyes stayed locked forward.
The drive felt longer than it should’ve. Every red light dragged. Every car in front of me moved like it had all the time in the world.
I tried calling her again. Still nothing. Not even a flicker of a voicemail change. Not even a damn text .
My grip on the wheel tightened as I turned into her street, my knuckles going white. She always answered.
She always answered .
I parked across from her building, cut the engine, and stared at the windows above like I could will her into knowing I was there.
Maybe she was inside. Maybe she was fine. Maybe she was just scared. Or sick. Or?—
I got out and slammed the door before my thoughts spiraled further.
The lobby door clicked open under my hand, and I took the stairs two at a time. Her floor smelled like lemon polish and dust, same as always, but tonight it felt… sterile. Empty.
I reached her door. Raised my fist and knocked once. Then again, louder. “Anna?”
I waited. Nothing.
I knocked again—this time with the side of my fist. “It’s me. Open the door.”
Still silence. Heat crept up my spine. I pounded again, harder now, my voice sharper, more frantic. “Anna—open the door. Please.”
No response. I pressed my ear to the wood. Nothing.
No movement. No light leaking through the gap beneath. Just the dead weight of someone pretending they weren’t home—or someone too scared to answer.
I stepped back and stared at the door, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name yet.
Because if Anna wasn’t opening the door… Then something was terribly, horribly wrong.
I didn’t stop. Even when my hand started to ache, even when my voice cracked, I kept knocking. Pounding. Demanding. Begging.
“Anna, open the door. Please.”
I said it again. And again. My knuckles hit the wood so many times I stopped feeling them. It had been over twenty minutes. I was seconds away from breaking down the door myself—or collapsing against it—when I heard it.
Click.
My breath caught. The lock turned once. Then again.
And the door creaked open, just barely—an inch, maybe two. Just enough for a sliver of light to escape through the frame. Just enough for me to see the outline of her eye behind the gap.
“Anna?” My voice cracked, breathless. “What the hell is going on?”
But she cut me off—fast, like every second she spoke was borrowed time. “You shouldn’t be here. I—I can’t see you.” Her voice trembled. “They threatened to kill me if I even got close to you.”
I froze.
The words sank in like ice. Threatened? What the hell was she talking about?
I stepped forward instinctively, trying to push the door wider, but she pressed back against it. “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Who threatened you? What’s going on? Why have you been ignoring me?—”
“I found something, Isa.” Her voice was clipped, rushed, barely audible over the hammering in my chest. “I found something… about the people you trust. About the one you let in.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
But she didn’t answer. Didn’t elaborate. Didn’t explain. She just extended her hand through the gap in the door—trembling fingers clutching something small and black.
A USB.
“Take it,” she said quietly. “Watch it. And then… you’ll understand.”
My hand closed around it slowly, like I was picking up a live grenade. It felt small. Weightless. But something in her voice made it feel heavier than anything I’d ever held.
“Anna, what’s on this?” I whispered. “Please—talk to me.”
But she didn’t.
The door slammed shut with a force that stole the air from my lungs. The locks clicked again. One. Two. Three.
“Anna!” I shouted, slamming my hand against the wood. “Open the door! Talk to me! What did you find?”
No answer.
“You owe me more than this! You raised me—don’t shut me out now!”
But the silence on the other side was complete. I hit the door again. And again. Until my palm stung and my eyes burned and I felt like something inside me was coming loose, ripping at the seams.
And still—nothing.
Eventually, I gave up. My legs folded beneath me, and I slid down to the floor outside her apartment, the cold tile biting through the fabric of my jeans. I stared at the USB clutched in my hand, trying to breathe. Trying to think. Trying not to spiral.
What the hell could be on it?
Who were the they she was talking about?
“the one you let in”
I swallowed hard. My chest tightened. No. It couldn’t be?—
I shoved the thought down before it could finish forming. Not until I knew for sure. Not until I saw it.
Eventually, I forced myself to stand, my body heavier than it had been when I’d arrived. I turned away from the door, not because I wanted to… but because I finally understood she wasn’t going to open it again. Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
I walked back down the stairs with the USB still gripped in my fist like it had claws. The city outside felt colder now. Unfamiliar. Like it knew something I didn’t.
And as I stepped into my car and started the engine, there was only one thought echoing in my head:
Please let this be a lie.
The drive back felt slower than usual, even though I didn’t stop for a single light. The streets were mostly empty now—quiet, dim, like the world was holding its breath and I was the only one who didn’t know why.
I kept glancing at the passenger seat where the USB sat. Small. Innocent-looking. But it wasn’t , was it?
Nothing about tonight had been innocent.
My thoughts spun circles I couldn’t follow. Anna had never looked afraid before. Not even once. She was calm. Composed. Sometimes cold. But never afraid. Never like that.
And she hadn’t looked at me like someone she loved. She’d looked at me like someone she was warning .
I pulled into the garage, heart pounding harder the closer I got to my spot. The tires screeched softly against the concrete as I parked, and for a second I just sat there with my hands on the wheel, staring at nothing.
I should’ve called someone. Asked for help. But who the hell was left to call?