ISABELLA
It was early in the morning barely a whisper of dawn curling around the horizon when my door creaked open.
My heart leaped into my throat as I bolted upright, only to see Francesca's silhouette glide into the room like a shadow wearing secrets.
She didn't say much. Just my name in a cold clipped voice and then a flick of her fingers, urging me to follow.
No smirk, no venom in her tone this time. Just urgency. And something sharper lurking beneath.
I didn't ask questions. My legs moved on instinct, barefoot against the cold marble until I realized, thankfully, I wasn't dressed in rags or sleepwear.
I had managed to keep a decent outfit on the night before maybe a subconscious act of rebellion. Or survival.
The hallways were heavy with silence, the kind that buzzed in your ears. Most of the guards were knocked out from late shifts or Lorenzo's generous pour of expensive scotch. We glided past them like ghosts. No one stirred.
