Sometimes presence brings reality, you build a bond, you get attached.
His case was different.
The air seemed thicker,
The world seemed to loose color
Duties were neglected,
His mind wandered far
Xavier noticed the absence before he understood it.
The gate opened.
The driveway remained empty.
No familiar footsteps.
No cardboard box held carefully against a thin frame.
By the third day, he stopped pretending it was coincidence.
"Rossi," he asked one of the junior guards during a shift change. "The pastry deliveries."
The man shrugged. "Haven't seen them."
Xavier's jaw tightened.
Isabella never missed a delivery.
He began asking questions quietly.
Too quietly for Otilla to notice at first.
A kitchen staff member mentioned the pastry shop was "temporarily closed." A driver muttered something about inspections and complaints. A clerk at a municipal office looked at Xavier's uniform and suddenly became very helpful.
The file was thin.
Too thin.
Health violations.
Unpaid fees.
A minor labor inquiry.
And a name stamped on the bottom of the paperwork like a signature written in shadow.
D'Este.
Xavier's stomach turned.
That evening, he stood outside the Rossi apartment building.
Not in uniform.
He felt exposed without it.
He hesitated before knocking, uncertainty heavier than any order he had ever received.
The door opened slowly.
Isabella froze when she saw him.
"Xavier?"
Relief crossed her face—then fear.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quickly, glancing down the hallway. "If they see you—"
"I know," he said. "But I needed to know if you were alright."
She swallowed. "We're… managing."
He noticed the shadows under her eyes. The way her shoulders curved inward now.
"Your father," he said carefully.
She closed her eyes.
"He's sick," Isabella whispered. "He collapsed."
Xavier felt something cold settle in his chest.
"And Andrea?"
"Out of school," she said. "Out of work."
Silence pressed between them.
"This is my fault," Xavier said quietly.
Isabella looked at him sharply. "No."
"I should've been more careful."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "This started before you noticed. Long before."
He searched her face. "Who did this?"
She hesitated.
Then—honesty won.
"Otilla D'Este."
The name felt like a blade.
Xavier exhaled slowly.
"I thought so," he said.
Isabella stared at him. "You knew?"
"I suspected," he replied. "I didn't want to believe it."
Footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Isabella stepped back instinctively.
"You have to go," she said. "Please."
Xavier nodded—but not before saying, "I won't let this stand."
She looked at him, hope and fear warring in her eyes.
"Be careful," she whispered.
This time, he didn't promise.
Across the city, Otilla closed a file.
"Sergeant Hernandez visited the Rossi residence," a voice reported.
Otilla smiled.
"So," she said softly. "He's learned to look."
She leaned back in her chair.
"Good," Otilla continued. "Curiosity makes men brave."
Her smile sharpened.
"And bravery makes them destroy themselves."