Isabella turned the handle of her nightstand drawer and paused. It was slightly ajar, even though she distinctly remembered closing it the night before. Inside, her things were where she left them or so it seemed. Her brush had shifted, her prenatal vitamins were no longer neatly tucked beneath her scarf, and the notebook where she scribbled half-thoughts had its pages bent at the corners.
Her skin prickled.
She glanced toward the door, which was shut, and then over her shoulder at the window. It was locked, but she checked it anyway. The glass was cool to the touch, undisturbed. Still, something was wrong. She could feel it in her gut.
Pulling the scarf over the bottle of vitamins again, she closed the drawer carefully this time. She walked slowly to the door, turned the lock, and leaned against it. The air felt heavy, like the walls had grown ears.
Downstairs, the mansion bustled as always, boots on polished floors, voices murmuring in and out of rooms, doors creaking open then clicking shut. But in her wing of the estate, it was too quiet.
A soft knock at the door jolted her.
Isabella opened it just enough to see Rosa holding a tray.
"Tea and toast. I am sure you're going to love it," the maid said with a small smile.
"Thanks," Isabella whispered, stepping aside to let her in.
Rosa set the tray on the table, her eyes quickly scanning the room. "You've been anxious lately," she said gently. "I've seen that look before."
Isabella sat down, fingers fidgeting with the corner of her blanket. "I don't know what you mean."
"You check your lock three times. You stare out the window like you're waiting for something bad to happen. You flinch when someone calls your name."
Isabella said nothing.
Rosa took something out from her apron pocket, a small, soft-covered notebook with a fountain pen clipped to the side. "I used to keep one of these when I was young and afraid. Sometimes writing helps more than talking."
Isabella reached for it, her hand trembling a little. "Thank you."
Rosa didn't push further. She stepped out quietly, closing the door behind her. Isabella stared at the journal in her lap, then glanced once more at the nightstand.
Something had changed. She wasn't just afraid anymore. She was being watched.
Karl stood in the corridor outside the library, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He hadn't slept properly in days. Not since Isabella's retreat behind closed doors, not since the shift in the house's atmosphere.
He'd grown up in this mansion. He knew its rhythms. Right now, those rhythms were off.
He watched as Matteo exited the surveillance room down the hall. The man was cool, collected, his black shirt crisp and his gun visible beneath his jacket. But what bothered Karl wasn't what Matteo carried... it was the way he moved. Like a shadow that lingered too long.
Matteo didn't notice Karl until he was nearly past him. When he did, he slowed just enough to nod.
"Everything good?" Karl asked, his voice flat.
"Always," Matteo replied.
Karl's eyes narrowed. "You've been spending a lot of time on this side of the house."
"Vance asked for increased patrols. We don't want any loose ends, especially with the rumors in the city."
"What rumors?" Karl stepped forward.
Matteo's smile was faint. "You know how it is. Someone's always watching someone."
Karl didn't answer. He waited until Matteo turned the corner, then walked briskly to the surveillance room. The door was locked.
He cursed under his breath.
Isabella made her way to the library later that afternoon, hoping to get a moment of peace outside her bedroom walls. As she passed the laundry wing, she slowed. Two staff members were huddled together by the water dispenser. Their voices were low, but urgent.
"She can't keep hiding it forever," one said.
"She'll be dead if he finds out."
Isabella froze.
The women noticed her too late. One gasped and dropped the glass in her hand, shattering it on the floor. The other stammered, "M-miss Rossi, we didn't see you."
Isabella's heart thundered in her chest, but she kept her voice calm. "Carry on."
She turned and walked away without waiting for an explanation. Her hands trembled slightly as she entered the library. Her knees finally gave way as she sank into a leather chair near the corner.
Her mind raced.
Was it about her?
Had someone found out?
Her fingers pressed against her abdomen again... Too early to show, but not too early to suspect. And with all the eyes around her lately, how long before suspicion became confirmation?
She needed a plan. She needed to leave.
But how? Vance was unpredictable, and Karl... Karl was growing too attentive. She couldn't risk telling him, not yet. Not when so much was still uncertain.
Karl found his way to the garden after dinner, pacing between the hedges. His phone buzzed.
A message from one of his trusted men downtown:
Heard whispers. Someone in the house is feeding info outside. Careful who you trust.
He pocketed the phone and scanned the mansion's top windows. One of them flicked with light. Isabella's.
Something was definitely wrong. But how far did it go? And who had their claws in her life already?
He thought about confronting her again, but remembered her haunted face in the hallway. No. He had to wait. But not passively.
That night, Isabella locked her door and drew the curtains tight. She opened the journal Rosa had given her, uncapped the pen, and hesitated.
Finally, she wrote:
I think someone was in my room again.
My things were moved. They know. Or they suspect.
I can't breathe in this house.
Vance is watching. Karl is watching. Matteo is everywhere.
And I'm afraid I'll lose this baby before I even get to protect it.
She didn't cry. She couldn't afford to. But her eyes stung as she closed the book and tucked it under her pillow.
Outside her window, in the trees just beyond the property wall, someone adjusted the zoom on a camera lens.