I can’t stop staring at the photos scattered across the desk-each one more damning than the last. There’s no mistaking it.
Isabella was there the night my uncle was killed. The images show her slipping into the house, knife in hand, her expression cold and resolute.
The betrayal cuts deep, twisting like a knife in my gut. She was supposed to be on my side.
But I can’t act on emotions alone. If I confront her now, without more proof, she could slip away-and I might lose my only chance at the truth.
No. I need to tread carefully. One wrong move and I’m dead.
I pace the room, heart pounding as I grab my phone and compose a message to Isabella.
Alyssa: We need to meet. Alone. No one else can know about this.
I hover over the send button, knowing there’s no going back once I hit it. Then, with a breathless exhale, I tap send.
The seconds stretch into minutes. My stomach twists with anxiety until finally, her reply pings on the screen.
Isabella: Where?
Alyssa: The warehouse near the docks. Midnight.
She sends back a simple “Understood.”
I toss the phone on the bed and press my palms against my temples. This is a dangerous game I’m playing, and if I’m not careful, it’ll cost me everything.
The docks are eerily silent as I step out of the car, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The air smells of salt and rust, a cold breeze slithering off the water.
I scan the shadows, every muscle in my body tense. This meeting could go horribly wrong-but I need answers.
I make my way into the abandoned warehouse, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Isabella is already waiting, leaning casually against a crate, her arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re late,” she says, her voice calm but edged with suspicion.
I stop a few feet away from her, my heart hammering in my chest. “I had to be sure I wasn’t being followed.”
Her dark eyes narrow slightly, but she nods. “So? What’s this all about?”
I cross my arms to steady myself. “I know you were there the night my uncle died.”
Her expression doesn’t change-no shock, no denial, nothing. It’s like I’ve told her the weather.
“So?” she says coolly. “You knew your uncle was a problem. I did what had to be done.”
Rage bubbles under my skin, but I force myself to stay calm. “You had no right to make that call.”
“Didn’t I?” She tilts her head, studying me like a predator sizing up prey. “He was working with the third player, Alyssa. He would’ve sold you out the second you became inconvenient.”
“I don’t care what your reasons were,” I snap. “You murdered him-and you didn’t even tell me.”
Isabella shrugs, as if my outrage means nothing. “If you’re smart, you’ll thank me. Your uncle was a threat. I neutralized him.”
I clench my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to scream. How could she act like this was some kind of favor?
“You betrayed me,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I can’t trust you anymore.”
Her eyes darken. “If you think trust matters in this world, you’re more naive than I thought.”
Before I can respond, the sound of engines roaring outside shatters the tense silence.
Isabella’s head snaps toward the entrance. “Did you bring anyone here?” she hisses.
“No,” I say, my heart racing.
The heavy clang of metal echoes through the warehouse as the doors burst open. Xavier’s men flood in, weapons drawn, their faces grim with purpose.
“Shit,” Isabella mutters, reaching for the gun tucked at her hip.
I grab mine as well, my pulse pounding in my ears. This isn’t a negotiation-it’s an ambush.
“We don’t have time for this,” Isabella snaps. “Stay close to me.”
“Why the hell should I trust you now?” I bite out.
“Because if we don’t get out of here, we’re both dead,” she snarls, her eyes flicking toward the advancing men.
The first shot cracks through the air, and instinct kicks in. I dive behind a stack of crates as bullets ricochet off the concrete walls. Isabella returns fire with deadly precision, dropping one of Xavier’s men before ducking into cover beside me.
“This is your fault,” I hiss, breathless.
“No time for blame,” she snaps, reloading her gun. “We need to move. Now.”
She grabs my arm, pulling me deeper into the shadows of the warehouse as the firefight rages on.
I should hate her. I do hate her. But right now, she’s the only ally I’ve got.
We weave through the crates, dodging bullets and slipping through narrow passageways. The warehouse is a maze, and every corner feels like a trap waiting to spring.
“This way!” Isabella hisses, gesturing toward a side door.
We sprint toward it, our footsteps echoing loudly in the chaos. But just as we reach the exit, a figure steps into our path-one of Xavier’s lieutenants, gun aimed directly at me.
“End of the line, sweetheart,” the man sneers, cocking his weapon.
Time slows. My heart pounds in my chest, my mind racing for a way out.
Before I can react, Isabella moves faster than I thought possible. She lunges forward, slamming the butt of her gun into the man’s head with brutal force. He crumples to the ground, unconscious.
“Keep moving!” she shouts, yanking the door open.
We stumble into the cold night air, gasping for breath as we sprint toward the docks.
We make it to a narrow alley behind the warehouse, the sound of Xavier’s men still echoing in the distance. For now, we’re safe-but the questions swirling in my mind are anything but.
Isabella leans against the wall, wiping blood from her temple. “You’re welcome,” she mutters.
I glare at her, trying to make sense of everything. This woman-this murderer-just saved my life. And I have no idea what to do with that.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from an unknown number.
It’s a single sentence:
“Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
Beneath it is a photo-a picture of me and Isabella at the meeting, clearly taken moments before the ambush.
I stare at the screen, my blood running cold. Someone knew we’d be here. Someone close enough to track us.
“Who sent it?” Isabella asks, her voice low.
I shake my head, my mind spinning. The third player-whoever they are-just made their next move.
And I have a sinking feeling this game is far from over.