ed into my mind. You don't know the whole tr

ho had sent the note? What did they know about my marriage, and why couldn't I shake the feeling that this was just the be

ander-our relationship was too fragile, too distant. But there was someone else who

ime together, but during the few interactions we'd had, she always seemed supportive, if not a little withdrawn. P

approach her, my phone buzzed wit

nch today. We

e moment I walked in, the hostess guided me to a private table near the back, tucked away from the crowds. Isabella was a

o her, an air of poise that only someone born into wealth and privilege could possess. But as I sat

l tone. The last thing I wanted was to seem de

t made me uneasy. "I just thought we should talk.

d it to anyone yet, but every instinct told me to be careful. Isabella was warm, supp

ating you?" she asked,

loneliness, the cold distance between Alexander and me, without sounding weak?

ted, choosing my words carefully. "Ale

r chair. "That sounds about right. My brot

was an underlying bitterness there, something unresolved between t

my family can be," she said, her voice softening. "But I want you to know

she had said this many times before-to other people, perhaps? Still, I couldn't deny

id, meaning it. "I apprecia

ness in her expression, as if she was holding something back. I c

hings that masked the deeper tension between us. But just as I was beginning to relax, Isabella's de

id, her gaze locking onto mine. "There's a reason he'

mpse into Alexander's past, a clue to understanding the man I had m

glass. For a moment, I thought she might change the subject, but then

ecrets that have shaped Alexander into the man he is today. If you want to un

But before I could press her for more, Isabella leaned back, her fac

eturning, though her eyes remained distant. "Just...

ion. My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of what

h the message from the note. *A larger plan.* A secret about Alexan

way, Isabella paused and turned ba

she said, her voice barely above a whisper

my chest. The summer of 1999. What had happened then? And why did I hav