Chapter 5
1341 Words
Isla stirred.
Her head pounded like a drum, a dull, persistent ache that throbbed behind her eyes. The light streaming through the tall windows was too bright, almost blinding. She winced, her fingers curling around the silky sheets beneath her.
Wait-sheets?
Her eyes flew open.
What she saw didn't make sense.
The ceiling above her was painted in soft gold, the kind that shimmered under the light. A chandelier, so elegant it could've been in a royal palace, hung above her. The walls were cream with golden accents, and the room-no, the suite-was massive. Tastefully luxurious. The furniture was custom, expensive. There were no visible electronics, yet everything about the space screamed technology, wealth, and power.
She shot upright.
Bad idea.
A sharp pain sliced through her temples and her vision swam.
Where the hell was she?
Her heart pounded in panic. Her fingers dug into the covers as her breathing turned shallow. This wasn't a hospital, it wasn't her home, and it sure as hell wasn't a place she'd ever been in before.
Then a thought struck her like a slap to the face.
Had they caught her? Had Mario found her? Was this his house?
No.
No, no, no.
She tried to remember. Her last memory was fuzzy, disjointed. She had seen a car-no, several. One of them looked like it was chasing her. She had ducked into the trees and managed to lose them. The rain had poured harder, her dress soaked and her body shaking. She'd tried to stop a car for help-she remembered waving her arms-
Then nothing.
Just black.
She pulled back the plush blanket and tried to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, but the moment her feet touched the cold floor, a sharp pain shot through her right leg. She gasped and stumbled, collapsing back onto the bed with a soft cry.
Her legs weren't broken, but they were bruised, badly. It felt like she had been hit. Or no, she had been hit.
By a car?
Her hand flew to her head. There was a small bandage at her temple. Her hair felt damp and clean washed?
Her eyes scanned the room again.
Everything was so pristine. So intimidatingly beautiful. There was even a tray of untouched food and water beside her. The sheets smelled of lavender and something expensive she couldn't name.
Wherever she was... whoever had brought her here... they were stupidly rich.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because no one did things like this without wanting something in return.
The door creaked open gently, and Isla tensed immediately, her hands clutching the covers like a shield.
A woman in a neat black-and-white uniform stepped in, her expression unreadable. She was young-probably in her early twenties-with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun and a clipboard tucked under one arm.
"Oh, you're awake," the maid said with a polite smile, her tone smooth and composed, like someone who had been trained not to say too much.
"Where am I?" Isla asked, her voice hoarse and laced with panic. "Who brought me here?"
The maid walked over to the side table, adjusting the water and food tray with practiced ease. "You should drink some water. And eat something, if you can. You've been unconscious for hours."
Isla ignored the tray, her eyes wide. "Please-where am I? Who brought me here? Is this... Mario's house?"
The maid paused, but her face didn't change. She offered another small smile and straightened the sheet at Isla's feet. "I'll inform Sir Matteo that you're awake."
Isla's heart stopped.
Mario.
Had she just said Mario?
Her blood ran cold.
"What-what did you say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, dread curling in her stomach.
"Sir Matteo," the maid repeated carefully, then nodded and turned toward the door. "He'll be with you shortly."
Isla sat frozen, her mind racing.
Had she misheard?
Or was this Mario's doing?
The door clicked shut, leaving her alone with her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
She needed to get out of here before anybody came. If her father found her, she was as good as dead. She glanced at the window, wide open, the night breeze slipping through the curtains. *That should do.*
She forced herself up again, enduring every sharp wave of pain that shot through her body. She had to move before something else happened.
Limping toward the window, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, she winced with each step. The outside world was just a climb away.
But before she could pull herself over, the door creaked open.
An unfamiliar man stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“You’d fall,” he said, walking further inside. He placed a glass of water on the nightstand—a detail she hadn’t noticed until now.
Her eyes darted from him to the window. The ground was much farther than she realized. Jumping would be suicide, especially in her condition.
The man gave her a small smile and gestured at the water.
“You should drink,” he murmured. “You must be thirsty. You’ve been unconscious for two days now.”
Her eyes widened. “Two days?” she rasped.
He nodded. “We were certain your family would have come looking for you by now, but… we haven’t found anything.”
“My family?” she echoed, her voice low, almost broken.
“Yes. Who are they? We could contact them for you.”
Her entire body stiffened. Her lips trembled as she shook her head.
“Please, no.” She backed away from the window, panic flooding her. “Sir, please don’t.”
His brows lifted slightly. Then he softened his voice. “Call me Matteo. But why? Why don’t you want us to contact them?”
She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and nodded quickly as if agreeing with herself before blurting out, “I don’t want to go back. Please… I can’t go back.”
Matteo studied her for a long moment, the weight of her desperation hanging in the room. Finally, he gave a slow nod.
“Alright,” he said simply.
~~
Matteo pushed open the heavy study door, finding Leo at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen tapping absently against a stack of documents.
“I have something,” Matteo began, his voice low but certain.
Leo’s pen stilled. His gaze lifted, sharp as ever. “About her?”
Matteo nodded once before stepping further into the room. “Her name is Isla Navarro.”
Leo leaned back in his chair, the name rolling off his tongue as though testing it. “Navarro…”
“I knew something was off the moment I mentioned contacting her parents,” Matteo continued. “The fear in her eyes wasn’t the kind a stranger inspires. It was deeper. She begged me not to.”
Leo’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing, letting Matteo continue.
“So I did some digging,” Matteo said, slipping a folded sheet of paper onto the desk. “Turns out she was set to marry her father’s business partner. A union meant to strengthen ties between two families.”
Leo’s jaw tightened, his hand resting against the desk. “And yet she ended up here.”
“My guess?” Matteo shrugged lightly. “She fled. Whatever drove her to run must have been serious enough to risk her life. That’s not something people do unless they’re desperate.”
Silence filled the study for a moment, the weight of Matteo’s words settling in.
Leo reached for the paper but didn’t open it immediately. His mind was already racing, piecing together fragments of a story he hadn’t been told yet.
“Navarro…” he repeated, softer this time, almost to himself.
Matteo inclined his head. “Thought you’d want to know.” Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and quietly left the room.
Leo remained still, the name lingering in the air. That name sounded so Familiar.
Too Familiar!
- Writer
