The Quiet Before
811 Words
By the end of the week, the city had started to feel suffocating.
Meetings.
Contracts.
Investors.
Interviews.
Every hour of Isabella Moreau’s schedule had been carefully arranged, every conversation measured, every decision watched by people who wanted to know what the new Rossi–Moreau alliance would do next.
Power came with attention.
And attention never rested.
That evening, Isabella finally closed the last folder on her desk and leaned back in her chair.
The city lights outside her office window had already taken over the sky, bright and endless.
Her assistant knocked gently before stepping in.
“You still have the dinner with the European investors in an hour,” she reminded.
Isabella rubbed the bridge of her nose lightly.
“Cancel it.”
The assistant blinked in surprise.
“Cancel…?”
“Yes. Reschedule it for tomorrow.”
“Of course, Ms. Moreau.”
When the door closed again, Isabella stood up and walked slowly toward the window.
For days she had been surrounded by glass towers, crowded streets, endless conversations about money and influence.
For once, she wanted silence.
Fresh air.
Something that didn’t involve strategy.
She picked up her phone.
“Prepare the car,” she told the driver. “We’re going to the lodge.”
An hour later, the city had disappeared behind them.
The car drove along a quiet road surrounded by trees and open land. Isabella watched the scenery change through the window as the heavy skyline of Manhattan faded into darkness and quiet countryside.
The lodge had belonged to her family for years.
A private retreat outside the city, far from business and reporters.
The car finally slowed near the entrance gate.
Tall trees surrounded the property, their branches swaying softly in the night wind.
Isabella stepped out once the driver opened the door.
Cool air brushed against her face.
It felt different from the city air.
Cleaner.
Lighter.
She inhaled slowly, letting the tension of the week ease from her shoulders.
The driver stood nearby, waiting for instructions.
“Go home for tonight,” she told him calmly. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded respectfully before returning to the car. The engine started, headlights briefly cutting across the gravel driveway before the vehicle disappeared down the dark road.
Silence settled over the property.
Isabella walked slowly toward the lodge.
The building stood quietly under the moonlight, warm wooden walls surrounded by tall trees and open fields. It was peaceful in a way the city could never be.
She slipped off her heels and stepped onto the wooden porch, enjoying the feeling of the cool night air around her.
For the first time in days, her mind felt quiet.
No negotiations.
No reporters.
No Matteo Rossi watching her across a conference table.
Just silence.
She stepped down from the porch and walked along the gravel path toward the small garden that stretched behind the lodge. The wind moved gently through the trees, carrying the faint scent of rain from somewhere far away.
Her phone buzzed once in her hand.
A message.
She glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.
She frowned slightly but opened it.
The message was short.
You shouldn’t be alone tonight.
Her brows knitted together.
A prank?
A mistake?
She typed a quick reply.
Who is this?
No response came.
Isabella looked around the quiet property.
Nothing moved except the trees swaying softly in the wind.
She shook her head slightly.
Probably nothing.
Just someone trying to be clever.
Still, something about the message left a strange feeling in her chest.
She turned and began walking back toward the lodge.
Halfway up the path—
A sudden sound broke the silence.
Crunch.
Gravel shifting behind her.
Isabella stopped.
Slowly, she turned.
The garden was empty.
The wind moved again through the trees, leaves rustling softly.
She exhaled quietly.
“You’re imagining things,” she murmured to herself.
But as she stepped toward the porch again—
A dark figure moved from the shadows near the trees.
Before she could react—
A hand grabbed her arm.
Hard.
Isabella gasped, instinctively trying to pull away.
“Let go of me!”
But the grip tightened.
The stranger’s voice was low, rough.
“You should’ve stayed in the city.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she struggled, trying to twist free from the man’s hold.
“Who are you?!”
No answer.
Only the pressure of his grip tightening again.
And in that moment, Isabella realized something terrifying.
Whoever this man was—
He had been waiting for her.
Far away in Manhattan, the lights of Rossi Global still burned high in the sky.
Matteo Rossi stood in his office, reviewing another contract, unaware that miles away—
The storm surrounding Isabella Moreau had just begun.
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