I didn't sleep after the nightmare.
I sat on the edge of the bed with my knees pulled to my chest, the image of hands pinning me underwater replaying every time I closed my eyes. The house was silent again, but now I understood what that silence meant.
Waiting.
Someone out there expected me to break.
I refused to give them the satisfaction.
At dawn, I showered, dressed carefully, and practiced Isabelle's posture in the mirror. Chin lifted. Shoulders back. Calm, composed, untouchable. Whoever had killed her had done so because she'd been afraid.
I wouldn't make the same mistake.
Julian was already awake when I reached the kitchen.
He stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, coffee untouched. He looked like someone who hadn't slept either.
"You're up early," he said.
"So are you."
He watched me closely. "You screamed last night."
"I had a dream," I replied evenly.
"About the lake?"
"No," I said. "About being held down."
His jaw tightened.
"That wasn't a dream," he said quietly.
I stilled. "Then what was it?"
"A memory," he replied. "Or someone else's."
The implication settled heavily between us.
"You said I was bait," I said. "Is that still true?"
"Yes."
The honesty hurt more than I expected.
"Then stop pretending this is about protecting me," I said sharply. "If someone's watching, I want to know who."
Julian studied me for a long moment. "Then you'll have to do exactly what Isabelle did before she died."
"Which is?"
"Stop hiding," he said. "And start pushing."
The first push came sooner than I expected.
At ten a.m., a car pulled up to the estate—sleek, black, familiar.
Marcus Hale stepped out.
The sight of him made my stomach twist.
He looked exactly as he had in his office: polished, controlled, impossible to read. But now that I knew he'd been part of Isabelle's life before her death, every step he took felt invasive.
"Isabelle," he said smoothly as he entered. "You look well."
"Recovered," I replied.
His eyes flicked briefly to Julian, then back to me.
"I'm glad," he said. "There are matters we need to discuss."
Julian folded his arms. "She's not ready."
Hale smiled faintly. "You don't get to decide that."
The tension between them was unmistakable.
"Come with me," Hale said to me. "It won't take long."
I hesitated—just long enough for Hale to notice.
Then I nodded. "Alright."
Julian's gaze followed us out of the room, sharp and warning.
Hale led me into a small sitting room near the front of the house.
"This was Isabelle's favorite place to think," he said casually.
I doubted that.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He leaned back in his chair. "To make sure our arrangement remains… beneficial."
"To you," I corrected.
"To everyone," he replied. "You're doing well so far. No public mistakes. No emotional displays."
"That's not a compliment," I said.
He smiled thinly. "It is in this family."
I leaned forward. "Why did Isabelle stop taking your calls?"
His expression barely changed. "She became… difficult."
"Afraid," I said.
"Yes," he agreed. "Unnecessarily."
My pulse quickened. "She thought someone was watching her."
"And now you do too," Hale said calmly. "The difference is—she was right."
My breath caught.
"You're not here by accident," he continued. "Someone forced her into a corner. Your presence is a way to flush them out."
"So I really am bait," I said.
"Yes," he replied. "But bait with protection."
I laughed softly. "You mean Julian?"
Hale's gaze sharpened. "Julian complicates things."
"How?"
"He gets emotionally involved," Hale said. "That makes him unpredictable."
That confirmed it.
"You don't trust him," I said.
"No," Hale replied. "But I trust his instincts. And right now, they're focused on you."
I stood. "If you think I'm staying blind and obedient, you're wrong."
Hale rose as well. "Be careful," he warned. "Isabelle tried that too."
That evening, the threat became real.
The first sign was subtle.
My bedroom door, which I always locked, was open when I returned.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
But something was wrong.
I moved slowly, scanning the room. The bed was untouched. The desk exactly as I'd left it. Then I noticed the mirror.
A single fingerprint smeared across the glass.
Not mine.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Someone had been inside.
I locked the door, my hands shaking, and pulled out the burner phone.
One new draft message had appeared.
You're braver than she was. Or just more foolish.
I deleted it immediately, my chest tight.
This wasn't a warning anymore.
It was a challenge.
I found Julian in the study.
"Someone was in my room," I said.
He straightened instantly. "Are you sure?"
"There was a fingerprint on the mirror," I replied. "And a message."
His expression darkened.
"Show me."
I handed him the phone.
He read silently, then handed it back.
"They want you afraid," he said. "Isabelle started isolating herself after messages like this."
"I won't," I said firmly. "I'm done hiding."
"Then you'll need allies," he replied.
"Who?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Not Hale."
"That's clear," I said.
"And not my uncle," Julian added. "He controls too much."
My chest tightened. "Then who's left?"
He met my gaze. "Me."
I studied his face—serious, guarded, determined.
"And why should I trust you?" I asked.
He didn't look away. "Because if you fall, the truth dies with you."
That night, we set the trap.
I posted a photo online—Isabelle at the estate, smiling, alive, visible.
Within minutes, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
You shouldn't provoke me.
My heart pounded, but I typed back.
Then stop watching.
The reply came slower this time.
You think you're in control. She did too.
I looked up at Julian, who stood a few feet away, watching my face.
"They're hooked," he said.
"Who?" I whispered.
He shook his head. "Not yet."
Another message came in.
The lake was just the beginning.
A chill ran through me.
Whoever this was, they weren't finished.
And neither was I.
Because Isabelle had been afraid.
But I was angry.
And anger, I was beginning to understand, was far more dangerous.