The Weight of Secrets

I sat on my bed, eyes glued to the letters. I hadn't touched them in days, but they were always on my mind. Their presence felt like a looming shadow, pressing against my thoughts, never allowing me peace. I had reread them so many times, trying to decipher hidden meanings or clues, yet each attempt left me with more questions than answers.

The letters hinted at someone close to Isabella, someone she had trusted but who had betrayed her in some way. But the cryptic language made it impossible to pin down exactly who or what had led to Isabella's disappearance.

Tonight, though, was different. I had to figure it out. Something in my gut told me these letters were the key to uncovering the truth. My frustration mounted as I scanned the words again, this time searching for patterns or names I might have overlooked.

Isabella had been in danger—more than that, I had known she was in danger. The tone of the letters was filled with an urgency that unsettled me. How had no one seen the signs? How had Isabella been left so vulnerable?

A sudden knock on my door made me jolt, my heart leaping into my throat. I stared at the door, frozen for a moment, the fear of discovery flashing through my mind. I wasn't expecting anyone. Could it be someone coming for the letters? The unknown person who had sent me that ominous text message days ago?

I slowly stood up, my body tense, as if preparing for a fight. Approaching the door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Another knock. This time, softer, almost hesitant. I took a deep breath and cracked the door open slightly, peeking through the narrow gap.

It was Olivia.

My guard dropped, and I opened the door fully, my pulse still racing. Olivia stood there, looking anxious, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by something more serious.

"Hey, um… can I come in?" Olivia asked, her voice quieter than usual.

I stepped aside, motioning her in. I wasn't in the mood for company, but something about Olivia's nervousness intrigued me. Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes darting around the room before settling on the letters scattered across the bedspread.

"I—uh, I saw you in class earlier," Olivia started, her voice cautious. "You looked… distracted."

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Olivia to get to the point.

"I know you don't talk much," Olivia continued, fidgeting with her hands. "But I just wanted to check on you. I mean, I've seen you alone a lot lately, and I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to."

I crossed my arms, unsure of where this was going. Olivia had been hovering around me for days now, always with that strange mix of kindness and persistence. I didn't want to let her in. I didn't trust people easily, especially not after everything I'd been through with my family and my so-called friends.

"I'm fine," I replied curtly, my voice colder than I intended. I didn't want Olivia to think I needed anyone.

But Olivia didn't back down. She tilted her head, studying me with a look that was both concerned and determined.

"Are you really?" Olivia asked softly. "Because you don't seem fine."

I clenched my jaw. I hated this—hated the vulnerability that Olivia's words stirred up inside me. I was supposed to be strong, independent. I didn't need anyone's pity.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the bed. The sudden vibration snapped me out of my thoughts, and I grabbed it quickly, dreading another message from my father or the anonymous texter.

my heart sank when I saw the sender: Dad.

I could practically feel his anger through the screen.

"You think you can just ignore me? Answer me NOW or I'll come find you myself."

I felt the familiar surge of anxiety that always came with his messages. She knew if she didn't respond, he'd follow through on his threats. He always did. She couldn't let him show up at Hawthorne. Not now. Not when everything else was already spiraling out of control.

"Is everything okay?" Olivia asked, her voice gentle, as if she sensed the tension building in the room.

I didn't answer right away. I was too focused on the flood of emotions that my father's text had stirred up—anger, fear, frustration. I wanted to scream, to throw my phone across the room, to do anything to break the hold he had over me.

But instead, I just took a deep breath and typed out a short response: "I'm fine. Leave me alone."

It wasn't much, but it would keep him off my back for now. I tossed the phone onto the bed, my hands shaking.

"I don't mean to pry," Olivia said after a long pause. "But… if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

I looked at her, studying her face for any signs of judgment. But Olivia just looked… sincere. She wasn't prying. She wasn't trying to get something from me. She was just offering help. And for a split second, I had considered opening up, letting someone in for once.

But I couldn't. Not now. Not when things were so complicated.

"Thanks," I muttered, my tone softening slightly. "But I'm good."

Olivia nodded, seeming to accept the answer, but the concern never left her eyes. After another awkward silence, she stood up, offering a small smile.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you around," she said before heading for the door. She paused just before leaving, glancing back one last time. "Take care of yourself, Priscilla."

When the door closed behind her, I let out a long breath. I was alone again, but the feeling of isolation didn't bring the relief it usually did. The room felt heavier, more stifling. I couldn't stop thinking about the letters, about the looming threats hanging over me, about the secrets that seemed to be closing in on all sides.

The weight of it all was crushing me.

I sank back down onto my bed, my eyes drifting to the letters once more. The truth was there, tangled in the cryptic words, hidden behind the fear that Isabella had tried to express. I had to figure it out. For Isabella. For myself.

I picked up the first letter again, reading it with fresh determination. But now, instead of focusing on the fear in Isabella's words, I focused on the details. The names. The places. The subtle hints buried beneath the surface.

There was something I was missing. Something important.

And I wouldn't stop until I found it.

I continued to pore over the letters, my fingers tracing the delicate handwriting as my eyes searched for anything that might give me an edge. I had gone through these before, but now, after the encounter with Olivia and the weight of my father's message, my focus had shifted. Isabella's words were urgent, but there was something subtle—something almost coded—that I hadn't picked up on before.

One line stood out now, more than it ever had.

"They said I can't trust anyone anymore, but I know they're lying. I still trust you."

The letter didn't specify who Isabella trusted, but the way she had written it implied someone important. It wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, but the phrasing was so personal, so intimate, that it felt like a letter to someone close—someone Isabella thought could save her.

I leaned back against the wall, thinking it over. Who had Isabella trusted, and what had happened between them? Her eyes narrowed as she considered all the possibilities. Friends? A lover? Maybe a family member?

I thought back to my own life, the betrayals I had faced, and how quickly trust could be shattered. Whoever this was, they had betrayed Isabella, and now she was missing. But had she been taken, or had she run? The letters didn't specify—only that she had been in danger, and that no one could be trusted.

I sat upright, suddenly alert. What if the betrayal hadn't been about trust, but about something much bigger—something involving her disappearance? my mind flashed back to the figure breaking into Isabella's house. Whoever that was, they weren't after random items; they were looking for something specific. What could they have been searching for?

I stood up, the adrenaline from my thoughts making me restless. I needed answers, and I couldn't keep sitting around hoping they would come to me. I grabbed her phone and keys, deciding to head to the library again. Maybe there was something she had overlooked in the campus archives—

I grabbed my jacket as I stepped out of my dorm, feeling the cool night air hit my face. The campus was quieter than usual, the faint hum of the streetlights and distant chatter from other students fading into the background. The library had become my sanctuary, a place where I could think clearly, away from the noise and chaos of my thoughts—and my father's relentless messages.

As I made my way through the campus, my mind kept replaying the figure at Isabella's house. Who were they? What were they looking for? And why had they chosen that particular night to break in? my instincts told me it wasn't random. There had to be a connection between the break-in, the letters, and the sudden appearance of those cryptic text messages.

When I arrived at the library, the building loomed large and quiet, its tall windows reflecting the dim lights of the courtyard. I entered and headed straight for the back, where the older campus records were stored. The dusty shelves were lined with forgotten yearbooks, student records, and faded newspapers. This section was rarely visited by students, which made it the perfect place for me to dig deeper into the mysteries surrounding Isabella.

I searched for anything that might be related to Isabella—articles, reports, anything. After what felt like hours, I came across an old yearbook from Isabella's first year at Hawthorne. I flipped through the pages until I found her. There, in the glossy pages, was a photo of Isabella Monroe, smiling with a group of friends. I studied the photo carefully.

These people knew Isabella.

My eyes locked onto one particular figure standing beside Isabella—a boy with dark hair and a strikingly familiar presence. Alessandro De Berlusconi.

My stomach clenched. I stared at his face, younger and less polished than he was now, but unmistakably Alessandro. What had he been doing with Isabella? He had never mentioned her before, never acted like they'd been close. But here he was, grinning in a photo, looking very much part of her circle.

I slammed the yearbook shut, my mind racing. Alessandro had been involved with Isabella's life, whether he wanted to admit it or not. But why had he never spoken about her? And what role had he played in her disappearance?

I grabbed my phone and quickly searched through my contacts. My finger hovered over Olivia's name. Olivia was nosy, always up in everyone's business—she might know something about Alessandro's past. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent a quick message to Olivia: "Do you know anything about Alessandro and Isabella? Did they know each other?"

I didn't expect a response right away, but the phone buzzed almost immediately.

"Oh my God! Yes! They totally knew each other. He was all mysterious about it, but I remember people saying they used to hang out a lot their first year. He doesn't talk about it anymore though. Weird, right?"

My heart raced as I read the message. Alessandro and Isabella had been close—close enough that people noticed. But something had changed. He had hidden this connection, and now Isabella was gone.

I stared at my phone, feeling the pieces of the puzzle start to click into place. The letters, the break-in, the unknown figure, Alessandro's cold demeanor—it was all connected. But how?

Before I could think too deeply, another message buzzed in.

"Why do you ask? What's going on?" Olivia had asked.

I hesitated before responding. I couldn't trust anyone, not yet. Especially not Olivia, who seemed too curious for her own good. Instead, I just typed, "Just something I heard. Don't worry about it."

After sending the message, I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. Alessandro had something to do with Isabella's disappearance—I was sure of it now. But I didn't have enough to confront him, not yet. I needed more information, more evidence.

As I stood up to leave, I paused, my eyes scanning the shelves around me. The thought of finding that one crucial piece of information kept me rooted in place. Then, on impulse, I pulled a random book from the shelf—a dusty old novel with frayed edges. As I flipped through the pages, something strange caught my eye.

A slip of paper fell out from between the pages, fluttering to the floor. I bent down, picking it up carefully. my breath caught in my throat when I saw the familiar handwriting.

It was another letter from Isabella.

The words were hastily scrawled, as if written in a rush, and my hand trembled as I unfolded it.

"If you find this, it's too late for me. I don't know who to trust anymore. But if you're reading this, then you need to know—everything starts and ends with him. Don't trust him. Please, whatever you do… don't trust him."

my heart pounded as the words echoed in my mind. Isabella had warned me—warned whoever found the letter.

Everything starts and ends with him.

My hands clenched into fists as I stuffed the letter into my pocket. I had been right. I was determined to find out what.

As I left the library, the night seemed darker than before, the campus more sinister. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, every sound magnified by the growing tension within me.

But I wasn't scared anymore.

I was angry.

And I was going to get to the bottom of this.