The Shocking News

Isabella POV

The alarm went off at 6:40, same as it had every morning since I quit. I silenced it, dragged myself out of bed, and went to shower, already rehearsing the day ahead — another stack of résumés, another round of company lobbies, another chance nobody would want me.

It had been three days since I walked out of Moretti Industries. Three days of scrolling job boards until my eyes burned, printing out certificates I'd already printed twice.

I got dressed and headed downstairs with my folder of documents under my arm. Grandma was already at the table, and even from the doorway I could tell something was off — the way she was sitting, a little too still, a little too careful.

"Morning, Grandma."

She looked up and smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Morning, Isa."

"Nonna. Have you taken your medication?"

"Of course I have. I'm just tired, that's all." She waved a hand like she was swatting the question away, then turned it back on me before I could push further. "How are the interviews going?"

"Fine," I said, which wasn't a lie so much as a decision not to say more.

She sighed — the long, disappointed kind. "I still don't understand why you left that job. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be running around the city right now."

I'd given her the same answer a dozen times, and I gave it again. "It was too demanding, Grandma. I never had time for myself."

She didn't look convinced, but she let it go, and I was grateful enough not to ask why.

I finished breakfast, hailed a taxi, and gave the driver an address. Watching the city slide past the window, I told myself, again, that leaving had been the right call. I couldn't have stayed at that company. Not after what happened between me and Leonardo that night. I didn't want his money. I didn't want anything that had his name on it. I just needed a job — any job — and a way to stop thinking about him.

The interview turned out to be a waste of a taxi fare. The receptionist looked me over like I'd tracked something in my shoes.

"Do you have an appointment with the CEO?"

"No — I called about the vacancy. HR told me to come in with my certificates."

"There's no vacancy. That position's filled." She said it flatly, like she'd said it to five people already that morning and I was just the sixth.

"But I spoke to someone in HR yesterday—"

"There's no vacancy," she repeated. "If you don't leave, I'll call security."

I left. What else was there to do?

The rest of the day went the same way, more or less. One company wanted five years of experience I didn't have. Another offered a salary that wouldn't have covered my commute. The last place I tried, at least, said they'd call me back — which by that point felt like a small victory.

I got home late, ate dinner without tasting it, and went straight to bed.

Weeks passed the same way. Interview, rejection, repeat. I was running on fumes.

Then, finally, a callback — one of the places that had promised to get in touch. I showed up hopeful, sat across from the manager, and answered his questions. And then he leaned back in his chair and told me, without even bothering to be subtle about it, what he expected in exchange for the job.

I slapped him so hard my palm stung.

"You're disgusting," I said, and walked out without looking back.

By the time I climbed out of the taxi that evening, I didn't have anything left in me — not anger, not disappointment, just exhaustion. I pushed open the front door.

The house was too quiet.

"Grandma?" No answer. I set my bag down. "Grandma, I'm home."

That was when I found Maya in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with her back against the cabinet, crying.

"Maya — what happened?"

She looked up at me, and her face was the kind of scared that made my stomach drop before she even said a word. "I tried calling you. Your phone was off."

"What happened to Grandma?" My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

"She collapsed." Maya wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "We had to take her to the hospital."

For a second I couldn't move. I couldn't think. Then I was grabbing my bag again and running back out the door I'd just walked through.

I called Fiamma from the taxi, my hands shaking too much to type properly.

"Bella? What's wrong, you sound—"

I told her everything in a rush, half the words tumbling over each other.

"I'm in Singapore, I've got this shoot, I can't get a flight for at least two weeks." I could hear how much it cost her to say that. "But listen to me — don't panic. Be strong for Nonna. Call me the second you know anything."

"I will."

At the hospital, a nurse led me down a corridor that smelled like antiseptic and led me into a room where Grandma lay so still I almost didn't recognize her — tubes, monitors, her face gone pale and thin in a way I'd never seen. I sat down beside her and cried without even deciding to.

A doctor found me there a few minutes later.

"Isabella Vance?"

"Yes."

"Your grandmother's heart condition has worsened significantly. She needs surgery — soon."

"Then do it. I'll pay whatever it costs."

He hesitated in a way I didn't like. "The surgery and immediate care will run approximately fifty thousand euros. There are also unpaid balances on her existing treatment that need to be settled first."

I stared at him. "You're telling me I have to pay that before you'll even operate?"

"We need the account brought current before we can proceed."

I didn't say anything else. I just nodded and walked away before he could see my face crumple.

Grandma had never told me it had gotten this bad. She never told me anything was wrong at all.

I stepped into the hallway and called my father, my thumb slipping twice on his contact before I managed it.

"Dad." My voice cracked on the single syllable. I told him everything — the surgery, the money, all of it — and asked him, flat out, to help.

Silence stretched long enough that I thought the call had dropped.

Then he told me the company was drowning. The banks were circling. Someone had emptied a huge sum from the accounts, and no one knew who yet.

For a second I thought he was making it up to get out of paying. But his voice didn't sound like a man lying. It sounded like a man who'd already given up.

"Do you know who took it?"

"No." He sounded old, suddenly. "We're still looking into it."

I hung up and sank into a chair outside Grandma's room, staring at nothing.

Fifty thousand euros. Where was I supposed to find fifty thousand euros?

I looked through the glass at her — the only person who had never once made me feel like a burden — and thought, simply: I can't lose her. Not her either.

My phone buzzed. Maya.

"Isa." Something in her voice made me sit up straight. "There's someone here. Asking for you."

"Who?"

A pause, just long enough to make my pulse spike.

"Mr. Moretti."

The name hit me like cold water.

Leonardo.

Why would he be here? How would he even know where "here" was? I hadn't told anyone at that company anything — I'd made sure of it.

I got up and walked toward the entrance on legs that didn't quite feel like mine.

And there he was.

Dressed like he'd come from a boardroom, not a hospital waiting room. Grey eyes locked on me from across the corridor, unreadable as ever. He started walking, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world, and my heart was doing something painful and fast against my ribs.

He stopped in front of me. His eyes moved once, briefly, toward the room where Grandma lay — then back to me.

"How much do they need?"