ISABELLA
The washroom felt too small. Too bright and too quiet.
Vanessa leaned against the marble counter like she owned the room, like she owned the night, like she owned the future. Her black gown shimmered under the soft lights, a shadowed mirror of mine — a reminder that she was always close, always watching, always waiting. And now she was smiling at me like she had already won.
“I can help you,” she repeated, her voice smooth as silk, poisonous as arsenic.
My pulse thudded painfully in my throat. Help me with what? Destroy myself?
I forced my expression to stay neutral. “Help me… how? Why”
Her smile widened, slow and triumphant. “Oh, Isabella. Don’t pretend you’re happy here.”
I stiffened.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You think I don’t see it? The way you look l
