The Envelope
370 Words
Chapter Four – The Envelope
The gala blurred into noise after Matteo disappeared. Isabella barely remembered the shallow conversations, the polite laughter, the hollow speeches. All she could feel was the weight of the envelope in her clutch, burning against her side as though it carried fire.
By the time she returned home, her hands were trembling. She set the envelope on her dining table, poured herself a glass of wine, and stared at it as though it might bite.
Don’t open it, she told herself. This is madness.
And yet, she broke the wax seal with one swift motion.
Inside, a single sheet of ivory paper.
One sentence.
“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Hotel Palacio. Suite 1703. Come if you’re ready to know me.”
No signature. No explanation. Just the echo of his voice in her head, velvet and commanding.
Isabella pressed the letter against her chest, torn between fear and something far more dangerous—curiosity.
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Matteo waited.
From the balcony of his penthouse, he watched the Madrid skyline burn in the sunset. Cigarette smoke curled in the air as he sipped his wine. His men had already confirmed she opened the letter. Good. Curiosity was always the first step.
But this wasn’t just desire. For five years, he had searched for a face that haunted his memories, a woman he thought he had lost forever. And then, Isabella appeared—like a ghost reborn. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. Not this time.
He crushed the cigarette against the railing, his eyes narrowing with hunger.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured to himself. “She will come. She has to.”
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Isabella couldn’t sleep that night. She tossed beneath her sheets, her body restless, her mind replaying the way his eyes had pierced through her, the way his voice had wrapped around her name.
Every rational thought screamed at her to stay away. But her body betrayed her—thrilled at the memory, aching for the unknown.
When dawn finally broke, she rose from bed, knowing the truth she had tried to deny.
She would go.
She needed to know what waited behind the door of Suite 1703.
Even if it ruined her.
- Writer
