Otilla did not rage this time.
She smiled.
That was how everyone knew something terrible was coming.
---
The report lay open on her desk, the ink still fresh.
Isabella Rossi — Admitted. Full scholarship. Sponsor undisclosed.
Otilla read it slowly.
Then she noticed the timestamp.
The same night.
The same hour.
The call.
Her fingers tapped the desk once.
Twice.
"So he reached out," she murmured. "After everything."
She leaned back, eyes half-lidded.
Money had failed.
Fear had failed.
Authority had failed.
So she chose something quieter.
Final.
---
The men she hired never saw her face.
They didn't need to.
They only received instructions—precise, clean, detached from emotion.
"No witnesses. No connection. Make it look like chance."
An accident.
That was the word she preferred.
---
It happened three nights later.
Isabella had stayed late at the shop, reorganizing shelves, humming softly. Lucia had gone home early. Andrea was studying at a friend's place.
For once, Isabella was alone.
She locked up and stepped into the narrow street behind the bakery, phone in hand, rereading Xavier's last message.
Sleep well. Call me tomorrow.
She smiled.
That was when the car engine roared to life.
Too close.
Too fast.
Headlights blinded her.
Instinct screamed.
She jumped back just as the vehicle swerved violently, missing her by inches and slamming into a stack of crates instead.
Wood shattered.
The car didn't stop.
It sped off into the night.
Silence followed.
Then pain.
Isabella sank to the ground, shaking, her heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted to escape.
People rushed out.
Someone screamed.
Someone called for help.
Isabella could barely breathe.
---
The police called it an attempted hit-and-run.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
Unlucky coincidence.
But Isabella knew better.
She felt it.
That cold certainty sliding down her spine.
This wasn't fate.
This was intent.
---
Xavier heard about it six hours later.
He broke protocol to take the call.
"What happened?" he demanded, voice sharp with terror.
"I'm okay," Isabella said, though her voice trembled. "I wasn't hurt. Just… shaken."
His hands were shaking too.
"Did you see them?"
"No."
"Did they say anything?"
"No."
Silence.
Then, low and lethal—
"This is my fault."
"No," she said quickly. "Don't—"
"They found you," he cut in. "Which means she's escalated."
She went quiet.
"You think it was her," Isabella whispered.
Xavier didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
---
Across the city, Otilla sat at her vanity, calmly removing her earrings.
"They missed," she said to herself, almost amused.
That was fine.
This wasn't meant to end things.
It was meant to warn.
To remind a delivery girl and a soldier—
That love was a liability.
And Otilla D'Este never stopped until liabilities were erased.
She looked at her reflection and smiled softly.
"Next time," she murmured, "I won't miss."
---
And somewhere far away, Xavier Hernandez stood very still, something dark and unyielding settling in his chest.
Otilla had crossed the final line.
And this time—
He would not survive it quietly.