Chapter 3 — Secrets in the Shadows
Isabella
The faint hum of the estate’s air conditioning system filled the silence as Isabella’s fingers hovered over the keys of her laptop. She sat at a wide oak desk in the study Liam had begrudgingly assigned to her. The room, with its minimalist design of polished wood and clean lines, offered little in the way of comfort. The faint scent of lemon polish and old books lingered in the air, a sharp contrast to the tension that buzzed in her mind as she sifted through the day’s interviews.
The staff had been polite but elusive. Professionals to the bone—sharp, efficient, and, most frustratingly, loyal. Too loyal, Isabella thought bitterly as she flipped through her leather-bound notebook. Its well-worn pages were filled with shorthand notes and scrawled observations: vague answers, carefully worded reassurances, and rehearsed loyalty to Kane International. Yet, beneath the surface of their carefully curated responses, cracks had begun to show.
The IT manager’s stiff posture whenever Connor Hayes’s name came up. The way an assistant’s hands trembled as she handed over a folder. Averted gazes. Tight-lipped tension. Even the way the estate’s head groundskeeper avoided looking her in the eye when she mentioned the breach. The inconsistencies were subtle but enough to set Isabella’s instincts humming. Something was there, waiting to be uncovered.
Her fingers tapped out a query on her laptop, pulling up the public records she had gathered on Connor Hayes. His career was a textbook study in ruthless ambition: mergers, acquisitions, and whispers of deals that danced dangerously close to the line of legality. One article in particular, buried deep in the archives, hinted at a past controversy involving employee layoffs under his watch—an incident that had been suspiciously smoothed over. His official photos showed a man with a shark-like smile—predatory, calculated. If he was involved in the breach, it wouldn’t just be about financial gain. Men like Connor didn’t gamble their careers unless there was a bigger prize in sight.
A knock at the door startled her. Isabella glanced up, expecting Liam’s imposing figure to stride in with another cutting remark about her presence here. Instead, a small, golden-haired figure peeked around the edge of the door.
“Emily,” Isabella said, her voice softening. “What are you doing here?”
The little girl stepped inside, her strawberry-blonde curls catching the light. She wore pink overalls and clutched a well-loved stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her big blue eyes darted around the room, wary but curious.
“Daddy said I shouldn’t bother you,” Emily murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re not bothering me,” Isabella replied, giving her a small smile. She shut her laptop and gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Do you want to sit?”
Emily hesitated, her grip tightening on her rabbit. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”
“I’m working,” Isabella said, leaning back in her chair. “Trying to figure out what happened with your dad’s company.”
Emily frowned, her fingers absently stroking her rabbit’s ear. “Is it bad?”
“It’s serious,” Isabella admitted, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m here to help. That’s what I do—I figure out the truth.”
Emily’s expression darkened as she looked down at her rabbit. “Daddy doesn’t like it when people talk about the truth.”
The words hit Isabella harder than she expected. Her chest tightened as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Why do you think that?”
Emily shrugged, her gaze fixed on the floor. “He gets mad when people ask too many questions. He doesn’t like when people talk about Mom.”
Isabella froze, the air between them suddenly heavier. “Your mom?”
Emily nodded, her voice barely audible. “He says it makes things harder. So I don’t ask.”
Isabella’s heart ached at the quiet resignation in Emily’s tone. She reached for her notebook, jotting a quick note about the girl’s comment before offering a gentle smile. “Sometimes asking questions makes people uncomfortable,” she said softly. “Especially when it’s about things that hurt. But the truth is still important, even if it’s hard to talk about.”
Emily tilted her head, her small brows furrowing as she considered this. Then, without another word, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Isabella alone with her thoughts.
For a long moment, Isabella sat motionless, staring at the door. Emily’s words echoed in her mind, stirring memories she wasn’t ready to face. Liam’s anger, his cutting accusations, the betrayal she could never take back. Shaking her head, she forced herself to refocus. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the past—not when the present demanded her full attention.
*
The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as Isabella wandered the estate grounds, her notebook tucked under her arm. The interviews had yielded little in the way of hard evidence, but her instincts told her she was circling something significant. She just needed to find the right thread to pull.
The manicured paths wound through clusters of pine trees and wildflowers, the air rich with the scent of earth and greenery. Isabella paused, inhaling deeply as she let the stillness settle over her. The quiet was unnerving but oddly soothing, a stark contrast to the newsroom’s relentless chaos. For a fleeting moment, she wondered how Liam could stand such isolation. Then again, she supposed it suited him—a man who seemed determined to keep the world at arm’s length.
A rustling sound broke her reverie. She turned her head and caught a flicker of movement through the trees. Curiosity piqued, she followed the sound, her footsteps light on the path. Peering through the branches, she spotted Emily crouched on the ground, her small hands carefully pressing soil around a cluster of wildflowers. A trowel lay beside her, and the vibrant colors of the flowers stood out against the muted green of the forest.
Isabella hesitated, unsure if she should approach. But before she could decide, Emily looked up and spotted her.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Emily said, her tone defensive.
“Neither are you, I bet,” Isabella replied, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She stepped closer, careful not to intrude. “What are you doing?”
“Planting flowers,” Emily said, her voice softening slightly. “This is my garden.”
“It’s beautiful,” Isabella said, crouching down a few feet away. “Did you make it yourself?”
Emily nodded, a flicker of pride crossing her face. “Daddy doesn’t know about it. He’d say it’s messy.”
Isabella smiled, her heart tugging unexpectedly. “Sometimes messy things are the most beautiful.”
Emily glanced at her, suspicion and curiosity flickering in her expression. “Do you have a garden?”
“Not like this,” Isabella admitted. “But my mom used to have one. She loved tulips. I used to help her when I was your age.”
Emily’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I like daisies.”
“They’re a good choice,” Isabella said. “Strong and cheerful.”
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a hawk. Isabella felt a warmth she hadn’t expected—a quiet connection forming in the unlikeliest of places.
“You can help, if you want,” Emily said suddenly, holding out the trowel.
Isabella blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”
Emily nodded, her curls bouncing. “But don’t tell Daddy.”
“Deal.” Isabella took the trowel, the soil cool and fragrant beneath her fingers. They worked side by side, the simple act grounding Isabella in a way she hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to simply be present, letting the moment unfold without forcing it.
*
That evening, back in the study, Isabella flipped open her leather-bound notebook. Her fingers traced over the words she had scribbled throughout the day. Connor Hayes. The staff’s unease. Liam’s guarded demeanor. Emily’s quiet insight. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to take shape, though the picture remained incomplete.
Her pen hovered over the page for a moment before she wrote three words in bold, decisive strokes:
“Follow the shadows.”
Closing the notebook, she leaned back in her chair. The shadows were there, waiting to be uncovered. And Isabella Hartley was determined to bring them into the light—no matter what it cost her.
