CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Night Everything Changed

Isabella knew something was wrong the moment Alexander answered her call.

“Hello?”

His voice sounded distant.

“Alexander, what's happened?”

“Nothing.”

She closed her eyes.

She had learned enough about him to recognise when he was lying.

“Try again.”

A pause followed.

“Someone left a message at my apartment.”

“What kind of message?”

He explained what he had found beneath his door.

Isabella sat down at her desk, her notebook already open.

“Did you photograph it?”

“Yes.”

“Send it to me. Don't throw anything away, and don't confront anyone until we know more.”

He gave a short laugh.

“You sound like my manager.”

“Your manager sounds sensible.”

“I'm beginning to regret calling you.”

“No, you're not.”

Silence.

Then he said, “No. I'm not.”

She smiled faintly.

“Meet me at the newspaper office. We can review everything together.”

“Isabella, I don't want to drag you into this.”

“You haven't dragged me anywhere. I'm already investigating it.”

“I know, but—”

“Alexander, listen to me. I'm not going to stop doing my job because things have become uncomfortable. And I'm not going to stop caring about you because you're frightened.”

The line went quiet.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

“Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“That's because you spend too much time pretending to be invincible.”

He laughed quietly.

“Perhaps.”

“Come over. I'll make coffee.”

“You're a terrible cook.”

“Then bring your own.”

For the first time during the conversation, she heard a genuine smile in his voice.

“See you soon.”

Alexander arrived at the newspaper offices forty minutes later.

Isabella had arranged for them to use a small meeting room away from the main newsroom. She had also informed Margaret that she was reviewing new evidence connected to the Westbridge investigation.

Margaret had agreed, provided that everything remained documented and independently verifiable.

Alexander placed the photograph of the anonymous note on the table.

Isabella examined it carefully.

“It's the same style as the earlier messages.”

“You think it's the same person?”

“Possibly. But we can't prove that yet.”

She opened her laptop and reviewed the previous anonymous emails.

The wording differed, but the intention was similar: frighten them, direct their attention toward a particular person, and discourage them from pursuing the investigation.

“Someone wants us to ask questions about Michael,” she said.

“Perhaps because he's involved.”

“Or because they want us to believe he is.”

Alexander sat back.

“Every time we discover something, another mystery appears.”

“That's usually how investigations work.”

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

She looked at him.

“Of what?”

“Living with unanswered questions.”

Isabella considered the question.

“Sometimes. But I've learned that not knowing something doesn't give me permission to invent an answer.”

He nodded slowly.

“I wish I could do that.”

“You can.”

She reached across the table and took his hand.

“But you have to stop believing that every answer will destroy you.”

He looked at their joined hands.

“What if it does?”

“Then we'll deal with it when we know what it is.”

He squeezed her fingers.

For a moment, they remained silent.

Then Isabella returned to the document.

“The note mentions Daniel's contract. That gives us something specific to investigate.”

Alexander nodded.

“I'll contact Michael again.”

“Ask him for the contract records and any correspondence he had with Daniel. Don't accuse him of anything. Just ask for clarification.”

“You make it sound very easy.”

“It's not easy. It's simply the next step.”

He smiled faintly.

“I'm beginning to understand why you do this.”

“Because I'm stubborn?”

“Because you don't give up when things become difficult.”

She looked at him.

“Neither do you.”

He laughed softly.

“Perhaps that's why we argue so much.”

“Perhaps.”

Their eyes met.

Alexander leaned toward her and kissed her.

It was brief, gentle, and entirely unexpected.

When he drew back, Isabella was smiling.

“Are you trying to distract me from my investigation?”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely not.”

He kissed her again.

She laughed against his lips.

“Alexander!”

“All right. I'll behave.”

“You'd better.”

He settled back into his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

For a few precious minutes, the investigation felt manageable.

Then Isabella's computer chimed.

An email had arrived from the newspaper's research department.

She opened it.

The subject line read:

HISTORICAL RECORDS — DANIEL MERCER

Her smile vanished.

The message contained a scanned copy of an academy registration form, dated seven years earlier. It confirmed that Daniel had been registered with Westbridge's youth programme.

Attached was a second document.

A termination notice.

The stated reason for his departure was voluntary withdrawal following a breach of academy regulations.

At the bottom was a signature.

Daniel Mercer's.

But beside it was a handwritten note indicating that the document had been processed by Michael Grant.

Alexander stared at the screen.

“He handled Daniel's departure.”

Isabella nodded.

“It appears so.”

“Why didn't he tell me?”

“I don't know.”

Alexander stood and walked to the window.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he turned back.

“I need to see him.”

“Alexander—”

“I can't keep waiting for someone else to tell me what happened to my friend.”

Isabella rose.

“Then we'll go together.”

He looked at her.

“No. This is between Michael and me.”

She felt a flicker of disappointment but kept her voice steady.

“All right. But don't let your anger make decisions for you.”

He nodded.

“I'll try.”

He left the office a few minutes later.

Isabella watched him disappear down the corridor.

She wanted to follow him.

She wanted to protect him from whatever he might discover.

But she knew she could not make his decisions for him.

And perhaps that was the hardest part of loving someone: understanding that caring for them did not give her the right to control what happened next.

Michael Grant agreed to meet Alexander that evening.

They sat in the agent's private office, with the door closed and the city lights visible through the windows.

Alexander placed the termination notice on the desk.

“Explain this.”

Michael looked at it.

His expression changed.

“Where did you get that?”

“From the club's historical records.”

Michael leaned back slowly.

“Daniel was a complicated situation.”

Alexander felt anger rise through him.

“He was seventeen.”

“I know how old he was.”

“He was a boy who trusted the people around him. He came to me because he thought I could help him.”

Michael said nothing.

Alexander leaned forward.

“Did you arrange his departure?”

Michael closed his eyes.

“I handled the paperwork.”

The admission struck like a physical blow.

“Why?”

“Because the club told me he was leaving.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No.”

Alexander stood.

“Then why did you sign the paperwork?”

Michael looked up at him.

“Because I was told it was the best way to protect him.”

“From what?”

Michael hesitated.

Then he said, “From people who had more power than either of us.”

Alexander stared at him.

“You let him disappear.”

“I thought I was helping him.”

“You thought?”

Michael's voice rose.

“You weren't there, Alexander! You didn't see what was happening. Daniel was frightened. Your friend was being threatened, and the people threatening him had connections throughout the club.”

“Then why didn't you go to the police?”

“Because I was told there was no evidence that would stand up. I was afraid that if I challenged the decision, Daniel would suffer even more.”

Alexander shook his head.

“You should have trusted him.”

Michael looked away.

“Yes.”

The single word silenced the room.

For the first time, Michael seemed to understand the damage he had caused.

“I have regretted that decision for seven years,” he said quietly.

Alexander stared at him.

“Do you know where Daniel is?”

“No.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“I know that he left London. I helped arrange a meeting with a youth coach outside the city. After that, I lost contact with him.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I thought it was safer for everyone if the matter stayed buried.”

Alexander gave a bitter laugh.

“Safer for whom?”

Michael had no answer.

Alexander picked up the document.

“I don't know if I can trust you anymore.”

Michael nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

Alexander walked toward the door.

“Alexander.”

He stopped but did not turn.

“I am sorry.”

For a moment, he wanted to believe him.

Then he remembered Daniel's face in the old photograph.

He remembered all the years he had spent wondering whether his friend had simply given up on football.

And he remembered how easily everyone had accepted the explanation that Daniel had left voluntarily.

“I'm sorry too,” Alexander said quietly. “Because I should have asked more questions.”

He walked out.

When he reached his apartment, Isabella was waiting outside.

She took one look at his face and understood that the meeting had gone badly.

“What happened?”

He handed her the termination notice and told her everything.

She listened without interrupting.

When he finished, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him.

Alexander held her tightly.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to feel the grief he had pushed aside.

Daniel had been his friend.

A boy who had trusted him.

And Alexander had allowed the club's silence to become his own.

“I should have done more,” he whispered.

Isabella rested her cheek against his chest.

“You were young.”

“I was old enough to care.”

“You did care.”

“Not enough.”

She drew back and looked at him.

“You cannot change what happened seven years ago. But you can help find him now.”

Alexander looked into her eyes.

“What if he doesn't want to see me?”

“Then you'll respect his decision.”

“And if he blames me?”

She took his face gently between her hands.

“Then you'll listen. You'll apologise if you need to. And you'll let him decide what happens next.”

Alexander closed his eyes.

For a moment, he simply leaned into her touch.

Then he kissed her.

Not because he wanted to escape his pain, but because he trusted her enough to let her see it.

She kissed him back, holding him as though she had all the time in the world.

When they separated, she whispered, “You don't have to carry everything alone.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

“I'm trying to learn that.”

For the first time, Alexander understood that love was not about finding someone who could rescue him from every difficult truth.

It was about finding someone who would stand beside him while he faced it.

And Isabella was still there.

But neither of them knew that the next revelation would threaten the trust they had only just begun to build.