Chapter 14

Isabella's POv

The balcony air turned sharp in my lungs. One second I was sitting there, and the next, Matteo was yelling at me to get done and then everything exploded into chaos.

The gunshot split the night wide open, so loud my ears rang.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed myself against the wall, the rough stone scraping my palms.

Footsteps thundered from inside the house. The balcony doors burst open and guards flooded out, weapons drawn, their faces hard and alert.

They surrounded us in seconds, their eyes scanning the darkness beyond the balcony, searching for threats I couldn't see.

Matteo's entire demeanour had changed. Gone was the man who had been standing close to me moments ago with a worried expression and tone.

Now he barked orders with cold precision, his voice cutting through the confusion like a blade.

"Lock down the perimeter. Find whoever fired that shot. Now."

The guards moved immediately, some disappearing back into the house whilst others spread out across the balcony.

Two of them approached me, their hands reaching for my arms.

"Wait," I managed, my voice shakier than I wanted it to be. "What's happening?"

"Miss, we need to take you to your room," one of them stated, his grip firm on my elbow.

I jerked away from him. "No. I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what the hell is going on."

Matteo turned to me then, and something in his expression made my stomach drop.

His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that felt almost physical.

Then his gaze fixed on something, and his face darkened.

"You're wounded."

I looked down. Blood was seeping through the sleeve of my dress, a dark stain spreading across the fabric.

I hadn't even felt it happen. The adrenaline must have been masking the pain, but now that I saw it, a sharp sting flared in my arm.

"It's nothing," I insisted, even though my head was starting to feel light. "I just need to know who—"

"You need medical attention." His voice left no room for argument. He nodded at the guards. "Take her to her room. Get the doctor."

"No." I planted my feet, refusing to move even as the guards tightened their hold on my arms. "Matteo, someone just tried to kill us. I deserve to know what's happening. I deserve—"

"What you deserve is to stay alive," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "And that means getting that wound treated and staying somewhere secure whilst we find out who did this."

The guards began pulling me backwards, towards the doors.

I fought against them, my feet sliding on the smooth balcony floor.

"Let me go!" The words came out louder than I intended, edged with panic I couldn't quite control. "You can't just drag me away like I'm some helpless—"

"Isabella." Matteo's voice cut through my protests. When I looked at him, something in his eyes made my throat tighten. "Please."

That single word, spoken so quietly after all his commands, caught me off guard.

For a moment, I stopped struggling. But it was too late. The guards were already pulling me through the doorway, back into the house.

"Matteo, don't you dare—" I twisted in their grip, trying to see him, but they were moving too quickly. "Let me go right now!"

The hallway blurred around me as they half-dragged, half-carried me through it.

My voice echoed off the walls, but I didn't care who heard.

"You have no right to do this! I'm not some prisoner you can just lock away whenever it suits you!"

They didn't respond. They just kept moving, their faces impassive, as though my protests meant nothing.

As though I meant nothing.

My arm throbbed now, the pain cutting through the fog of adrenaline. The house spun slightly around me.

I blinked hard, trying to focus, but everything seemed to tilt at odd angles.

"I said let me go," I repeated, but my voice came out weaker this time. The strength was draining from my legs. "I need to... I need to know..."

The world lurched sideways. My knees buckled, and only the guards' grip kept me upright. The ceiling above me seemed to move in slow waves.

"Miss?" One of them spoke, his voice distant and warped. "Miss, stay with us."

But the darkness was already pulling at the edges of my vision, creeping inward like ink spilled across paper.

I tried to fight it, tried to hold on, but it was useless.

My last conscious thought was a surge of frustration so intense it burned in my chest.

Then nothing.

Voices filtered through the darkness first. Low murmurs that I couldn't quite make sense of.

Then came the awareness of something soft beneath me, a mattress, blankets.

My arm ached with a dull, persistent throb.

I forced my eyes open. The room swam into focus slowly. My room. The curtains were drawn, but pale light seeped around the edges.

"How long had I been unconscious?"

Someone moved in my peripheral vision.

I turned my head, the motion sending a wave of dizziness through me.

It was her. That maid. The one who had appeared in my room before, the one whose presence always felt wrong somehow.

She was arranging something on the bedside table—bandages, bottles, medical supplies.

"Where's Matteo?" My voice came out hoarse, my throat dry.

She glanced at me, her expression neutral. "The master is out dealing with the situation."

I tried to sit up, but pain lanced through my arm and I fell back against the pillows. "What happened to me?"

"You were wounded on the balcony. A bullet grazed your arm. You've been unconscious for about an hour." She moved closer, reaching for my injured arm. "I need to check your bandages."

I pulled away from her. "Don't touch me."

Something flickered in her eyes—amusement, maybe.

She straightened, folding her hands in front of her. "You need to stay put. You're injured, and the master gave strict orders that you're not to leave this room."

"Of course he did." Bitterness coated my words. I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

An hour. I had been unconscious for an hour whilst whoever had tried to kill us was still out there. Whilst Matteo was doing God knows what without telling me anything.

The weight of everything pressed down on me, the shooting, the constant secrets, the way everyone treated me like I was something fragile that needed to be protected or contained.

I didn't fit anywhere in this twisted world. I didn't understand the rules, didn't know who to trust, didn't even know why someone would want me dead.

"There are too many twists," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "Too many things that don't make sense."

"That's the nature of this life," she offered quietly.

I turned to look at her properly then. Really look at her. She stood there so calmly, so composed, as though bullets and danger were everyday occurrences.

As though she belonged here in a way I never would.

"Who are you?" The question came out sharper than I intended. "And don't give me some vague answer about being a maid. I want the truth."

A slow smile spread across her face. It wasn't warm or friendly—it was knowing, almost conspiratorial. "That's not particularly important information."

"Not important?" I pushed myself up onto my elbows, ignoring the pain. "Someone just tried to kill me, and you're standing in my room like you own the place. I'd say it's bloody important."

She moved closer to the bed, her smile widening. "What you need to know is that I'm a spy just like you."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, my mind struggling to process what she had just said. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent, Isabella. We both know what you are." She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp eyes. "The only question is who you're really working for."

My heart was racing again, but this time from something other than fear. "Who are you working for?"

Her smile turned cold. "That's not your business."