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Isabella Game Begins
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2026-10-13 10:32:51Cassandra woke with her mother's smile still lingering in her mind.
A girl.
The word echoed through her—soft, warm, like a secret whispered in the dark. She pressed her hand to her stomach, her fingers spread wide. The baby stirred, a tiny flutter against her palm.
"Good morning, Grace," she whispered.
Dante stirred beside her. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. His lips found her shoulder, her neck, her ear.
"You're glowing," he murmured.
"I'm happy."
He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. His eyes were soft, tender. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She turned to face him. "I think it's a girl."
His smile widened. "A girl?"
"A girl."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her stomach. "Hello, little one," he whispered. "I'm your father. I'm going to spoil you rotten."
Cassandra laughed. "You're going to be wrapped around her finger."
"I already am."
---
Her phone rang.
She almost ignored it. She'd been getting calls from journalists and strangers ever since the interview—people who wanted to congratulate her, question her, or simply hear her voice. She was tired of it.
But something made her answer.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice. Cold. Familiar. Impossible.
"Hello, Cassandra. Did you miss me?"
Cassandra's blood ran cold.
She knew that voice. She'd heard it in the mansion. She'd heard it in the garden. She'd heard it in her nightmares.
Isabella.
---
Cassandra didn't speak.
She couldn't. Her throat closed up. Her heart stopped. Her hand tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white.
"You sound surprised," Isabella purred. "Did you really think a little thing like death would stop me?"
"You're dead." Cassandra's voice was barely a whisper. "I saw the body. I saw—"
"You saw what I wanted you to see." Isabella laughed—a cold, brittle sound. "A little blood. A little drama. And suddenly everyone thinks I'm gone. It's amazing what people will believe when they want to."
Cassandra's mind raced.
The body. The blood. The scream in the night. It had all seemed so real. So final.
But Isabella was a survivor. She always had been. She'd survived Dante's rage. She'd survived Marcus Kane. She'd survived everything.
Why would death be any different?
"What do you want?" Cassandra asked.
"I want what you took from me." Isabella's voice hardened. "Dante. The empire. The life I was supposed to have. You stole all of it."
"I didn't steal anything. You betrayed him. You—"
"I did what I had to do to survive." Isabella's voice was sharp. "Just like you. Just like everyone. The difference is, I'm not going to apologize for it."
Cassandra's hand moved to her stomach.
Protective. Instinctive.
Isabella noticed. Or maybe she'd already known.
"You're pregnant," Isabella said. "I can hear it in your voice. The way you breathe. The way you protect."
Cassandra didn't answer.
"Congratulations." Isabella's voice dripped with venom. "But you should know—I'm not going to let you keep it."
---
The line went dead.
Cassandra stared at the phone, her hands trembling. Her body shook. Tears streamed down her face.
Dante was at her side in an instant.
"What happened? Who was that?"
"Isabella." Cassandra's voice cracked. "She's alive."
---
Dante didn't believe her at first.
He'd seen the body. He'd seen the blood. He'd seen the coroner's report. Isabella was dead. She had to be dead.
But the fear in Cassandra's eyes convinced him.
He called Marco. He called his contacts. He started investigating. The body in the morgue—was it really Isabella's? The DNA test—was it tampered with? The witnesses—were they paid off?
Every answer led to more questions.
And every question led back to Isabella.
---
That night, Dante doubled security.
He told Cassandra she wasn't to leave the house. No exceptions. No arguments. She didn't argue. She was too scared.
She sat by the window, her hand on her stomach, and waited.
---
A photograph arrived at the house the next morning.
Hand-delivered. No return address. No name. Just a plain white envelope with Cassandra's name written in elegant, looping script.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a picture of her and Dante at the interview. They were standing together, holding hands, smiling. It was a happy photograph. A hopeful photograph.
On the back, in the same elegant script: I'm closer than you think.
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