Narrator's Voice
Night had settled over Los Angeles in a velvet hush, but the city never slept — not truly. Neon signs flickered, tires whispered across asphalt, and somewhere in a quiet corner of downtown, Isabella Moretti stepped out of the black car that had been sent for her.
She wasn't nervous.
Not yet.
Her heels clicked sharply as she crossed the underground parking structure, perfectly tailored dress hugging her curves, hair brushed into that effortless wave she knew men stared too long at. Her walk carried the usual confidence — sassy, bold, unbothered. She thrived under pressure. She lived for tension. She loved being desired, feared, admired… in whatever order came first.
But tonight, something was different.
Her phone buzzed. It was a message from the same blocked number.
Keep walking.
She rolled her eyes.
He was dramatic.
Always had been.
