Kiss Before The Kill

Chapter 4

The rain came down like a warning.

Hard, steady, relentless — drumming against the tall windows of the old house, as if trying to get in. Inside the library, the fire had burned low, casting long shadows that danced across the floor like secrets that refused to stay buried.

Hazel sat close to Vincenzo, their bodies still warm from the kiss they’d shared. But something in her chest twisted — not from desire, but from the weight of what she hadn’t told him.

Outside, thunder rolled deep across the hills.

HAZEL

(speaking softly)

"I should probably leave..."

VINCENZO

"Look at the weather."

She turned toward the window. The night was drowning. Water poured from the sky, blurring everything. No lights. No movement. Just the sound of rain — and the truth she couldn’t confess.

VINCENZO

"It’s not safe out there."

(beat)

"Stay."

Hazel hesitated. Her body wanted to say yes. Her conscience begged her to run.

HAZEL

"I don’t want to be a problem."

VINCENZO

"You’re not. You’re the only thing that makes this house feel less... haunted."

That line hit her too hard.

She nodded slowly.

He stands and offers her his hand.

VINCENZO

"There’s a guest room upstairs. Stay the night. Please."

Hazel hesitates — not because she doesn’t want to, but because the weight of her secret is suddenly real again. Still, she nods.

HAZEL

"Okay. Just for tonight."

He smiles, brushing a thumb gently along her cheek.

VINCENZO

"I’ll show you the way."

Hazel lies in bed, unable to sleep. The storm is still whispering outside.

Her mind races.

The kiss. His hands. His words.

And… the camera.

Her eyes flick toward the window. Then toward the clock.

It’s almost morning.

Hazel moved like a shadow through the dim hallway, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. The storm had passed, but the air was thick — like the house itself was holding its breath.

She glanced toward Vincenzo’s door.

Closed.

No sound inside.

Good.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. A pale grey light seeped in through the tall windows as she reached the library door. Her fingers curled around the handle.

This is it.

One mistake and everything could fall apart.

She opened the door — slow, careful — and slipped inside.

The room was just as they left it. The fire had died. The bookshelves stood tall and silent like guards watching her every move.

Hazel moved quickly, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

There. The shelf.

She crouched down, fingers trailing along the spines of old books, then reaching behind them until she touched cold metal.

The camera.

Still here.

She exhaled a shaky breath, pulling it free and cradling it in her hands. Her thumb hovered over the delete button.

But before she could press it—

A soft knock echoed behind her.

She froze.

Not the door.

A knock. On wood. Inside the room.

Hazel turned slowly.

And there he was — Vincenzo.

Leaning in the doorway, shirt rumpled, eyes dark with sleep... and confusion.

VINCENZO

Hazel?

He looked at her — then at what she was holding.

And just like that, the air between them changed.

HAZEL

(softly)

I can explain.

But the look in his eyes said it was already too late.

The sky is pale, still heavy with fading clouds. Hazel steps out of the house, her coat pulled close, her steps slow and unfocused. The warmth from last night is gone — replaced by the cold weight of what nearly happened.

She doesn't look back.

She sat in the taxi.

Her phone buzzes on the seat beside her.

"AUNT Sofia – CALLING…"

Hazel stares at the screen for a moment, then answers with a tired voice.

HAZEL

Hey...

AUNT Sofia

"Hazel? Thank God. I was starting to get worried. You didn’t come home last night."

Hazel bites her lip, keeping her eyes on the road.

HAZEL

"Yeah… I stayed over. It was raining, and I didn’t want to drive. Sorry for not calling."

A pause on the line.

AUNTSofia

"You were with him, weren’t you?"

Hazel doesn’t answer right away.

HAZEL

"It’s not what you think. I mean, maybe it is. I don’t know."

Her voice cracks slightly. She swallows it back.

AUNT Sofia

"Hazel, I’m not calling to judge you."

"I’m just… worried. You’ve been carrying so much. For so long. I don’t want to see you get pulled under."

Hazel grips the wheel tighter, eyes stinging.

HAZEL

"I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

It’s like… I went there with a purpose. But now everything’s getting blurry."

AUNT Sofia

"Then come home. Rest. We’ll figure it out."

Hazel takes a deep breath.

HAZEL

"Okay. I’ll be there soon."

AUNT Sofia

"I’ll make coffee. You always think better after coffee."

A soft, broken smile touches Hazel’s lips for the first time that morning.

HAZEL

"Thanks, Aunt Sofia."

She ends the call.

Her fingers brush the camera in her coat pocket — and the smile fades.

Because no matter how warm home is…

she’s still holding a lie she hasn’t confessed.

The front door clicks shut behind her.

Hazel steps into the quiet warmth of home — the scent of coffee in the air, soft sunlight slipping through the windows. It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel dangerous.

Just... familiar.

She drops her keys in the bowl by the door and steps into the living room.

Aunt Sofia is on the couch, wrapped in her favourite cardigan, two steaming mugs on the coffee table. She looks up the moment Hazel appears — concern in her eyes, but not the kind that needs words right away.

AUNT Sofia

"You look like someone who’s had a long night."

HAZEL

(sighs)

" Is that obvious?"

AUNT Sofia

" Mm. Always is, with you."

She gestures to the seat beside her.

AUNT Sofia

"Come sit. I made your coffee the way you like it. Extra cinnamon, too much cream."

Hazel lets out a breath — maybe her first real one in hours — and sits down beside her, curling her legs under her.

She takes the cup, wrapping her hands around it like it’s the only warm thing in her life right now.

HAZEL

"Thanks."

AUNT Sofia

"You don’t have to talk about it. Not unless you want to."

Hazel smiles faintly. Sips.

HAZEL

"We didn’t fight. It’s not that."

"It was actually… nice. For a while."

AUNT Sofia

"He makes it hard, doesn’t he?"

HAZEL

"He’s not what I expected. That makes it harder."

There’s a pause. Just the sound of spoons clinking and soft morning light.

AUNT Sofia

"You’re not the same girl who came back here carrying anger in both hands."

"You’ve still got it — but you’re also carrying something else now."

Hazel doesn’t respond. She just stares into her coffee, her thoughts loud and messy.

AUNT Sofia

"Whatever you choose, just make sure it’s your choosing — not the past doing it for you."

Hazel nods slowly.

HAZEL

"I don’t know who I am in this anymore."

AUNT Sofia

"Then start figuring it out. One sip at a time."

Hazel leans her head on her aunt’s shoulder, quiet.

And for the first time in days, she feels still.

But across the room, her coat is draped over the chair — the hidden camera still tucked in the pocket, waiting.

The coffee has gone cold on her nightstand.

Hazel sits on the edge of her bed, still in the clothes from last night. Her coat is tossed on the chair, the hidden camera inside — untouched.

She doesn’t look at it.

Instead, her eyes are on the old photo frame in her hands. The picture inside is faded slightly — her parents smiling, holding her between them, arms tight around her like they could protect her from everything.

But they couldn’t.

She runs her thumb over their faces.

FLASHBACK :

Laughter in the kitchen. Her mother dancing around while stirring pasta sauce, music playing from the old radio.

Her father stealing a kiss and lifting Hazel onto his shoulders.

They were so alive.

So real.

BACK TO PRESENT:

Hazel swallows hard.

HAZEL (softly)

"I miss you."

Her voice cracks on the words. She hugs the photo to her chest, curling into herself like she’s trying to feel them again.

HAZEL

"I'm sorry I’m doing this…"

"I thought it would help. That hurting someone would make it easier."

She presses her forehead against her knees, fighting back tears.

But a thought creeps in — one she hasn’t allowed before:

What if Vincenzo really didn’t know?

What if she’s destroying someone who’s already broken?

She lifts her head, staring at the ceiling, her voice barely a whisper:

HAZEL

"What if I’ve got it all wrong?"

Silence answers her.

Except for the soft mechanical click of the camera in her coat pocket…

still recording.

And this time, it wasn’t her finger that turned it on.