WHISPERS OF BETRAYAL : THE COLD CEO

The Shocking News

The alarm went off at 6:40, same as it had every morning since Isabella quit. She silenced it, dragged herself 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 her.

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

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

"Morning, Grandma."

Nonna Sophia 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 before Isabella could push further. "How are the interviews going?"

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

Her grandmother 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."

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

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

She finished breakfast, hailed a taxi, and gave the driver an address. Watching the city slide past the window, she told herself, again, that leaving had been the right call. She couldn't have stayed at that company — not after what happened between her and Leonardo that night. She didn't want his money. She didn't want anything that had his name on it. She 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 her over like she'd tracked something in on her 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 already said it to five people that morning and Isabella 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."

Isabella 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 she didn't have. Another offered a salary that wouldn't have covered her commute. The last place she tried, at least, said they'd call her back — which by that point felt like a small victory.

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

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

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

She slapped him so hard her palm stung.

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

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

The house was too quiet.

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

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

"Maya — what happened?"

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

"What happened to Grandma?" Isabella's voice came out sharper than she 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 Isabella couldn't move, couldn't think. Then she was grabbing her bag again and running back out the door she'd just walked through.

She called Fiamma from the taxi, her hands shaking too much to type properly.

"Bella? What's wrong, you sound—"

Isabella 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." Fiamma's voice carried the weight of what that cost her to say. "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 Isabella down a corridor that smelled like antiseptic and into a room where her grandmother lay so still she almost didn't recognize her — tubes, monitors, her face gone pale and thin in a way Isabella had never seen. She sat down beside her and cried without even deciding to.

A doctor found her 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 she 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."

She 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."

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

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

She stepped into the hallway and called her father, her thumb slipping twice on his contact before she managed it.

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

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

Then he told her 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 she 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."

She hung up and sank into a chair outside her grandmother's room, staring at nothing.

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

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

Her phone buzzed. Maya.

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

"Who?"

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

"Mr. Moretti."

The name hit her like cold water.

Leonardo.

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

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

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

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

"How much do they need?"