Isla's POV
I drop the phone.
It hits the floor with a crack that sounds final. Mom picks it up, her eyes wide with concern.
"Isla? What did they say?"
"The accident." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "It wasn't an accident. Someone did it on purpose."
Mom's face goes pale. "What? Who?"
"The detective said they have video. From traffic cameras." I sink onto the bed, my injured leg throbbing. "He wants me to come to the station to see it."
"I'm coming with you." Mom's already pulling out her phone. "I'll call Richard. We'll go right now—"
"No." I grab her arm. "Not Richard. Not yet. I need to see the video first. I need to know who did this before we tell anyone else."
"Isla, if someone tried to hurt you—"
"Then they might try again if they know we're investigating." My mind races. "Please, Mom. Just us. Just for now."
She looks torn but finally nods. "Okay. Just us. But if this is serious, we're telling Richard and going to the police."
"We are going to the police. That's where the detective wants to meet us."
Mom helps me stand, and we make our way to the elevator. My ankle screams with each step, but I push through it. Pain is nothing compared to the fear crawling up my spine.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone wanted me dead.
And they almost succeeded.
The police station smells like old coffee and stress.
Detective Chen meets us in a small room with gray walls and a table with two chairs. He's middle-aged with kind eyes that have seen too much.
"Miss Monroe." He shakes my hand gently, noticing the sling. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, sit."
Mom and I sit across from him. He opens a laptop and turns it toward us.
"This is from a traffic camera at the intersection where you were hit." His finger hovers over the play button. "I need to warn you—this is difficult to watch."
"Just show me," I say.
He presses play.
The video is grainy but clear enough. I see myself crossing the street, phone in hand, crying. Then a black SUV appears from the left. It speeds up—actually speeds up—heading straight for me.
I watch myself get hit. Watch my body fly through the air and crash onto the pavement.
Mom makes a choking sound beside me.
The SUV doesn't stop. It keeps driving, running the red light, and disappears down the street.
"We got the license plate," Detective Chen says quietly. "The vehicle was reported stolen three hours before the incident. We found it abandoned in Queens the next morning. Wiped clean of prints."
"So you can't catch them?" My voice shakes.
"We're working on it. But here's where it gets interesting." He clicks to another video. "This is from a camera one block away, fifteen minutes before your accident."
The screen shows the same black SUV parked on a side street. A figure gets out of the driver's side—wearing dark clothes and a hood that hides their face.
They pull out a phone, look at it, then get back in the SUV.
"We believe they were tracking you," Detective Chen says. "Waiting for the right moment. This wasn't a random drunk driver, Miss Monroe. This was planned."
My stomach turns to ice.
"Who would do this?" Mom whispers. "Who would want to hurt Isla?"
Detective Chen looks at me carefully. "That's what I need to ask you. Have you received any threats recently? Any messages that made you uncomfortable?"
I think about the texts from Natasha. The photos. The warnings about the Steeles.
"Yes," I say quietly. "My sister. Natasha Monroe. She's been texting me. Threatening me."
"Can I see the messages?"
I pull out my phone with shaking hands and show him everything. The cruel texts. The photos of me and Caspian. The warnings. The message glad I survived.
Detective Chen's face darkens as he reads. "This is serious harassment. Possibly conspiracy to commit assault. Maybe attempted murder."
"My sister wouldn't—" But I can't finish. Because I don't know what Natasha would or wouldn't do anymore. She destroyed my engagement. She helped Dad cut me off. She's been nothing but cruel.
Would she actually try to kill me?
"There's more," Detective Chen says. He pulls out a photo and slides it across the table. "We found this person on multiple cameras near your location that day. Always staying back. Always watching. Recognize them?"
I look at the photo and my blood freezes.
Derek. My ex-fiancé.
He's standing on a corner, phone in hand, staring in the direction I was walking.
"He was following you," the detective says. "For at least three blocks before the accident. We're trying to locate him now for questioning."
"Derek and Natasha are together," I say, the pieces clicking into place. "They've been together since my engagement party. They planned this together. Everything."
"We need to bring them both in." Detective Chen closes the laptop. "Until we do, Miss Monroe, you're not safe. I strongly suggest you stay somewhere secure. Somewhere they can't find you."
"She's staying at the Steele penthouse," Mom says. "Fifth Avenue. There's security—"
"That might not be enough." The detective looks grim. "If your sister knows where you're staying, she could try again."
A knock on the door interrupts us. Another officer pokes his head in.
"Detective? We just got a call. Natasha Monroe and Derek Ashford checked into the Plaza Hotel an hour ago. Room 2847."
My heart stops.
The Plaza. That's ten minutes from the Steele penthouse.
They're here. In Manhattan. Close enough to watch me. Close enough to hurt me again.
"We're bringing them in now," Detective Chen says, standing. "Stay here. Don't leave until we confirm they're in custody."
He leaves, and Mom pulls me into a hug. I can feel her shaking.
"Why?" she whispers. "Why would they do this?"
"I don't know. I don't understand any of this."
My phone buzzes. I almost don't look. Almost throw it across the room.
But I do look.
It's a text from an unknown number: The police won't find us. We're too smart for that. And you're too trusting, Isla. The real danger isn't us. It's the people you think are protecting you. Ask Caspian Steele about the night of your accident. Ask him where he was. Ask him why he was speeding toward you in his black SUV. - N
The room spins.
No. No no no.
"Mom." I can barely breathe. "What kind of car does Caspian drive?"
She looks confused. "I don't know. Richard mentioned he has several. Why?"
I pull up my phone's browser and search: Caspian Steele car collection.
The first image makes me want to throw up.
Caspian standing beside a black SUV. The exact same model as the one in the police video.
"Isla, what's wrong? You look like you're going to pass out."
I show her the photo. Show her the text from Natasha.
"This doesn't mean anything," Mom says, but her voice wavers. "Lots of people have black SUVs. And Caspian wouldn't—he couldn't—"
The detective returns, his face grim. "They're gone. Natasha and Derek checked out of the Plaza five minutes before we arrived. It's like they knew we were coming."
"Someone tipped them off," I say numbly.
"We're checking hotel security footage. We'll find them." He looks at me. "In the meantime, I need to ask you something. The Steele family—do you trust them?"
"I—" The question catches me off guard. "My mom married Richard. He seems nice."
"And his son? Caspian?"
I think about the wedding. About how Caspian looked at me with such hatred. About how he investigated me. About his black SUV.
"I don't know," I whisper. "I don't know who to trust anymore."
Detective Chen nods slowly. "Until we figure this out, assume you can't trust anyone. Watch your back. And if anything else happens—anything at all—you call me immediately."
He gives me his card and lets us leave.
The ride back to the penthouse is silent. Mom keeps glancing at me like she wants to say something comforting but doesn't know how.
When we pull up to the building, I see him.
Caspian, standing in the lobby, talking on his phone. He's angry about something. His free hand is clenched in a fist.
He looks up and sees us through the glass doors.
Our eyes meet.
And I see something in his face that terrifies me.
Guilt.
He looks guilty.
Mom helps me inside, and Caspian immediately moves toward us. "Isla, I need to talk to you—"
"Stay away from me." My voice is cold. Dead.
"Please. You don't understand. There's something I need to tell you about the accident—"
"I know about the accident." I stop, forcing myself to look at him. "I know it wasn't an accident. I know someone tried to kill me. And I know you drive a black SUV."
His face goes pale. "Isla, that's not—you can't think I—"
"I don't know what to think. But right now, I need you to stay away from me. Far away."
I push past him toward the elevator. Mom follows, leaving Caspian standing there looking devastated.
As the elevator doors close, I see him pull out his phone and make a call. His lips move, and even though I can't hear the words, I can read them.
"We have a problem. She knows."
The doors close.
And I realize I might be living with the person who tried to kill me.