Mysteries
896 Words
The sunlight poured through the cracks in Isabel’s curtains, burning softly against her eyelids. She groaned, turned over, and reached for her phone.
8:42 AM.
Her heart nearly stopped.
“s**t!”
She jumped out of bed, tangled in her sheets, stumbling straight into the wall before grabbing her phone again. Three missed calls. Two from Laura.
Just as she tapped to call back, her phone started buzzing again.
“Laura,” she breathed, answering it. “I’m so sorry—”
“Where the hell did you go last night?” Laura’s voice snapped through the phone. “I thought you went to the bathroom! I waited, Isabel. I even went to check if you passed out in a stall!”
“I—what?”
“I sat there, at that bar, all night waiting for you to come back from the bathroom. I thought you were puking your guts out, or worse. Then I checked and… nothing! You just disappeared!”
Isabel rubbed her forehead, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “Laura, I swear I don’t even remember leaving.”
“What do you mean?”
“I... I remember getting into it with some guy, and then…” Her voice trailed off. She blinked, trying to piece the images together. “I remember someone stopping the fight. Someone—someone helped me outside.”
“Who?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t remember. I don’t even know who brought me home.”
“You mean you could’ve gotten kidnapped and you wouldn’t even remember?” Laura hissed. “Isa, are you hearing yourself?”
“I know,” Isabel said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Laura sighed, clearly still worried. “You didn’t even text me.”
“I thought I did. I really thought I did.”
Silence.
Then Isabel checked the time again.
“Wait—s**t—I’m late for work!”
She threw her phone aside, scrambled for her hairbrush, and practically dove into her closet. Last night’s heels were still lying by the door. Her head was still spinning, but she didn’t have time to think about that now. She pulled on her shirt, grabbed her bag, and rushed out.
---
The elevator doors of Hale Corporation opened at exactly 9:29 AM.
Isabel bolted out, nearly knocking over one of the interns on her way to the main office floor. She forced a breath, fixed her blouse, and entered the corridor.
And there he was.
Jeremiah.
Standing by the glass window across the hallway, his dark suit sharp against the morning light. He didn’t flinch when she approached. He didn’t even look her way.
But she slowed down.
Because something about the curve of his jaw, the weight of his silence—something was familiar.
Too familiar.
She stopped walking.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes.
And just like that, she knew.
It was him.
He was the one who took her home.
Her mouth opened, but no words came.
He said nothing either.
Just a faint, unreadable smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Then he turned away.
Before she could say anything, a voice called out from behind her.
“Isabel, in here.”
It was her father—Victor Hale—the CEO.
She tore her eyes from Jeremiah and walked quickly toward her father's office.
---
Inside the large executive suite, Victor Hale was pouring a drink—though it was far too early for whiskey. He was staring at the large portrait on the wall: a man with silver hair and a ruthless expression.
“Do you know who that is?” he asked as she entered.
Isabel nodded. “Your father.”
“My father,” Victor echoed. “The Earl before me. A man who built this company from the bones of everyone who crossed him.”
“Why are you showing me this now?”
Victor turned around. “Because you’re being watched, Isabel. And you’re not paying attention.”
Her brow lifted. “What are you talking about?”
He didn’t answer her directly.
Instead, he said, “The boy I introduced yesterday. Jeremiah. Don’t trust him.”
Something tightened in Isabel’s chest. “Then why is he here?”
“Because I need him here. For now.”
“But—”
“No questions.” His voice dropped. “Just… keep your eyes open.”
She stared at her father, trying to read past his calm face. But Victor had always been like that — speaking in layers, never telling the full truth.
And right now, she didn’t know whether he was protecting her... or using her.
---
Across the city, in a darker, more hidden office, Jeremiah’s stepfather leaned back in a leather chair, speaking to a man whose face was never shown.
“He’s in.”
The man across the table nodded. “And the girl?”
“Unaware.”
“Good. Keep her that way.”
The stepfather’s lips curled. “She’s smart. But not smart enough.”
“Just don’t let your pet get distracted,” the man said.
“He won’t.”
The stepfather’s eyes flicked to a monitor, where a paused security cam still showed Jeremiah walking Isabel out of the bar the night before.
“Not yet, anyway.”
- Writer
