Three years of pretending. Three years of hiding every thought, every glance, every longing. And now she was back in the house of the man who had sent her away, the man who might be watching her even now. Her eyes flicked nervously to the corners of the room, the ceiling, the walls. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust the house. Cameras, microphones—Adrian was the kind of man who would stop at nothing to make sure she never strayed.
She sat up, forcing herself to breathe.
There was only one thing that kept her alive in those silent nights at the school, one dream that had not been stripped from her: the dream of becoming a lawyer. Of fighting. Not just for herself, not just for Ava, but for every child locked in the same invisible chains she wore. The thought burned in her chest like a secret oath.
Her hands reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her phone. She had hidden it well—one the sisters never knew she had. She unlocked it quickly, her thumb trembling, and scrolled until her screen filled with the face she had memorized.
Ava.
The photo wasn't new; it was one she had saved long ago, hidden safely in a folder no one would find. Ava's smile beamed at her through the glass, soft, mischievous, alive. Isabella pressed the phone to her chest, closing her eyes.
"I'll fight for us," she whispered through her tears. "I swear it. I just pray you haven't moved on" the thought of it scared her to death.
In that room, dressed like the perfect daughter, framed by velvet and chandeliers, Isabella wept silently. The mansion believed it had reshaped her. The world thought she was a princess.
But beneath it all, the fire still burned.
And Ava was the flame.
Her phone rang suddenly, shattering the silence. Isabella's heart lurched, her pulse racing as her eyes darted to the glowing screen. Unknown number. She froze. Every nerve in her body screamed for it to be Ava. She prayed—please, let it be her. With trembling hands, she swiped to answer.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end made her eyes widen.
"Roome!"
She knew that voice instantly. "Luna…" Isabella breathed.
A laugh bubbled softly from the other side, warm and familiar. "How did you recognize me that fast? I was sure I'd surprise you."
Isabella's brows furrowed, though the corner of her lips twitched. "The question should be… how did you even get my number, Luna?"
There was a pause. Then a hesitant, almost guilty silence. "I—uhm…" Luna's voice softened. "I'm sorry, Bella."
The memory crept in without invitation, as vivid as the present.
It was one lazy afternoon back at the dorms. Isabella had fallen asleep on her bed, books scattered at her side, the soft rise and fall of her chest painting a picture of quiet vulnerability. The sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across her face.
Luna had walked in, and the sight stopped her cold. She froze at the doorway, her heart hammering. Isabella's lips were slightly parted, strands of hair brushing against her cheek.
Quietly, Luna closed the door behind her, careful not to wake her. She tiptoed closer, her gaze locked on Isabella's face. A fragile smile touched her lips as she whispered to herself, If only I could kiss you… If only I could tell you how much I've fallen for you.
Her eyes fell on the phone resting lightly on Isabella's chest. For a long moment, she hesitated, battling her own conscience. Then, slowly, carefully, she reached for it, sliding it into her hand without disturbing the sleeping girl.
Her own phone was out in seconds, fingers fumbling as she dialed her number from Isabella's device. A quiet vibration buzzed against her palm—the proof she needed. Her heart raced, guilt and thrill mixing in her veins. She quickly placed the phone back on Isabella's chest, as though it had never moved, then rushed into the bathroom, pressing her back against the door as her heart galloped.
From there, she stared at the new number saved on her phone. "Now you're with me… even when we're apart," she whispered, clutching it to her chest.
The present pulled Luna back as a soft apology spilled into the receiver. "I took it while you were sleeping," Luna admitted, her voice cracking just slightly.
Isabella let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "It's alright, Luna," she said gently, though her tone carried layers of meaning. "At least you arrived home safely?"
"Yes," Luna answered quickly, relief filling her voice. "And I believe you have too?"
"I did."
There was a pause—a silence heavy with things neither dared to say. Then Luna's voice came again, lighter but quivering at the edges. "Can we… Can we do a video call? I want to see your handsome face."
The request made Isabella's chest tighten. She tilted her head back, staring at the ornate ceiling as her heart ached with the strange contradiction of it all. Ava was the flame she longed for, the love she couldn't let go. Yet here was Luna—persistent, unwavering, reaching for her across the distance with eyes that had always seen her differently.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, torn between what she longed for and what she feared. Slowly, a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "Alright, Luna," she murmured, her voice soft, almost tender. "Let's see if you've changed since yesterday."
The line crackled, then Luna's face lit up her screen—eyes bright, smile wide, her hair tumbling around her shoulders as though the world hadn't dimmed her at all. For a moment, Isabella just stared, caught between the past and the present, between the flame that burned and the warmth standing right before her.
Ruth appeared at Isabella's door. She stepped inside with a gentle smile, her voice carrying the warmth of someone who wanted to ease Isabella's tension.
"Luna I will call you back" she hangs up immediately before Ruth had seen.
"Come on, Bella," Ruth said softly, reaching for her hand. "You've been locked up in this room too long. Let's take a walk, stretch your legs a bit. The house feels lighter when you move around in it."
Isabella hesitated at first, still wrapped in the fog of everything that had happened, but she eventually gave Ruth her hand. Ruth squeezed it reassuringly, and together they stepped into the long corridor.
The mansion was alive with day light. Sunbeams spilled across the polished marble floors, glinting off framed paintings that lined the walls. The scent of roses drifted in from the open courtyard, carried by the breeze. Isabella's eyes wandered over everything—her father's carefully chosen art, the carved furniture, the large windows that seemed to open the house to the world.
But with each sight, each little detail, Isabella's heart tugged painfully toward Ava.
The empty garden chairs reminded her of that night she and Ava had sat together under the stars, whispering until the world around them disappeared. The wide staircase reminded her of Ava's laughter echoing in her memory when they had raced each other in the park. Even the polished glass of the tall doors reflected a ghost of Ava's face, as if she were still there, watching her.
Isabella kept these thoughts locked inside, her lips pressed tight. She didn't dare say them out loud.
Ruth, however, noticed the way Isabella's gaze lingered too long on things, the way her eyes softened before she quickly looked away. But instead of pressing, Ruth simply said, "You'll get through this, Bella. You're stronger than you know."
They made their way slowly around the house, Ruth talking lightly about small things—the gardens, the new cook who had been hired, even a funny story about one of the maids spilling soup last night. Isabella managed a few faint smiles, though her mind never truly left Ava.
Just as they reached the veranda, a servant approached, bowing respectfully.
"Miss Isabella," the young man said. "Your father requests to see you in his office."
Isabella's stomach tightened, but she nodded silently. Ruth gave her hand another squeeze. "Go on. He just wants to talk. You'll be fine."
With measured steps, Isabella walked to her father's office. The heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar, and she pushed it open gently. Adrian sat behind his wide mahogany desk, papers neatly stacked, a pen resting in his hand. He looked up as she entered, his expression softening.
"Bella," he said, gesturing for her to sit across from him. "I've been thinking about your future."