CHAPTER 32

The next morning, I woke up early, unable to shake the anticipation buzzing in my veins. It was as though I were standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into an abyss of my own making. The plan had begun to take root in my mind, but I knew it needed more than just vague fantasies of revenge—I needed precision, patience, and most importantly, leverage.

I glanced at my phone. No messages from John yet. Typical.

Instead of waiting idly, I decided to prepare. Angelina wasn't just any woman. She was sharp, calculating, and from what I had learned through Alexander's careless pillow talk, fiercely protective of her image. If John didn't find anything useful, I'd have to dig myself. I grabbed my laptop and began researching her online presence with renewed focus.

Her social media accounts were carefully curated, each post radiating success and happiness. She had a polished smile in every photo, her outfits flawless, her captions dripping with carefully crafted wit. But perfection, I knew, was often a mask. Nobody was that perfect.

As I scrolled, I noticed a subtle pattern. While most of her posts were about charity events, vacations, or her work as a luxury event planner, there was a conspicuous absence of family. Not a single mention of her parents, siblings, or childhood. It was odd, considering how much of her life she displayed online.

It was a small crack, but it was enough to catch my interest.

Before I could dive deeper, my phone rang. It was John.

"About time," I muttered, answering the call.

"Morning, Isabella," he said, his voice heavy. "I've got some stuff for you, but you're not going to like it."

"Perfect," I said, ignoring his warning. "What did you find?"

"She's clean," he said flatly. "At least on the surface. No affairs, no criminal record, nothing scandalous. But…"

I perked up. "But?"

"There's something odd about her past," he continued. "She changed her name about ten years ago. Used to go by Angela Whitaker. No big deal on its own, but her records before that are… sparse. Almost like someone wiped them clean. No high school records, no childhood medical history. Just a blank slate until she turned eighteen."

I frowned. "Why would someone do that?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" he said. "I also found out she used to live in a small town called Ashford. It's off the grid, middle of nowhere. Maybe someone there knows her story."

"Good work, John," I said, my mind already racing. "I'll handle the rest from here."

"Isabella," he said hesitantly, "I really think you should let this go. This kind of thing has a way of backfiring."

"Thanks for your concern," I said coldly, "but I know what I'm doing."

I hung up before he could argue and leaned back in my chair, my thoughts swirling. A woman like Angelina didn't erase her past without a reason. Whatever she was hiding, it had to be big. Big enough to shatter her perfect image.

Without hesitation, I booked a bus ticket to Ashford.

---

The journey to Ashford was long and uneventful, giving me plenty of time to think. What kind of skeletons could Angelina be hiding? An abusive family? A scandal she wanted to leave behind? Or something even darker?

When I finally arrived, the town was exactly as John had described—small, quiet, and unremarkable. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone else's business. If Angelina had secrets, someone here would know.

I started at the local diner, a cozy little spot filled with the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, greeted me with a warm smile.

"What can I get for you, hon?" she asked, setting a menu in front of me.

"Just coffee," I said, glancing around. The other patrons were mostly older folks, chatting casually over their meals. Perfect.

As she poured my coffee, I decided to take a risk. "I'm actually trying to find some information about someone who used to live here," I said, keeping my tone light. "Her name was Angela Whitaker."

The waitress froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you asking?"

"She's an old friend," I lied smoothly. "We lost touch years ago, and I'm trying to reconnect."

The woman hesitated, then sighed. "Angela was… a complicated girl. Nice enough, but she had her troubles."

"What kind of troubles?" I pressed, leaning forward.

She glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one was listening. "There was an accident," she said quietly. "Back when she was a teenager. A fire. Her parents didn't make it."

My heart skipped a beat. "A fire?"

She nodded. "There were rumors, of course. Some folks said it wasn't an accident, that Angela had something to do with it. But there was never any proof."

I sat back, my mind reeling. A fire. A dead family. And rumors of foul play.

"Do you know where I can find anyone who might have known her back then?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"There's a man named Frank," she said. "Used to be a neighbor of theirs. He might know more. Lives over on Maple Street."

"Thank you," I said, leaving a generous tip before heading out.

---

Frank turned out to be a grizzled old man with a sharp tongue and a suspicious gaze. But when I mentioned Angela's name, his expression darkened.

"Why the hell are you asking about her?" he demanded.

"I'm just trying to understand," I said carefully. "What happened to her family?"

He snorted. "What happened is she got away with murder, that's what."

"What do you mean?"

"Her parents were strict," he said, his voice bitter. "Real strict. Used to keep her on a short leash, never let her out of their sight. One night, the house goes up in flames. Cops said it was an accident, but everyone in town knew better. Angela wanted out, and she found a way."

My stomach churned. If this was true, Angelina wasn't just hiding a secret—she was hiding a crime.

Frank leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't hear it from me, but if you're looking for trouble, you'll find it. That girl's nothing but bad news."

I left his house with my heart pounding and my mind racing. Angelina wasn't just a threat to me—she was dangerous. And now, I had the weapon I needed to destroy her.