anwhile, Bella was happy.
Well, why wouldn’t she be? After everything that had happened, she had been given a second chance.
The professor had called her personally. Her voice was tired, apologetic, almost embarrassed.
"Mrs. Moretti," she had said, "I owe you an apology."
Bella had frozen, her phone pressed to her ear, her heart pounding.
The professor continued, "I should have listened to you. When you ca to my office, when you tried to tell what had happened, I was too busy. Too stressed. Too focused on the annual day to care about anything else." Her voice cracked. "That was wrong of . I am sorry."
Bella’s eyes filled with tears.
"I am giving you the opportunity to present your work," the professor said. "Alone on your own terms. You have one week to prepare. And if there is anything you need, anything at all, please let know."
Bella had wanted to cry. She had wanted to scream. She had wanted to jump up and down and hug the professor and tell her that she didn’t need a week, that she could present tomorrow, that she had been ready for weeks.
Instead, she had taken a breath and said, "Thank you. I won’t let you down."
Now she sat at her desk, her laptop open, her notes spread out around her. The afternoon sun stread through the window, warm and golden, casting long shadows across her papers. She had been working for hours, refining her slides and work because she didn’t want to present the sa as Krystal.
But sothing else was also bothering her.
Mira.
She hadn’t heard from her in days..Not since the annual day. Krystal had been exposed.
Bella had texted her. No response. She had called her. The phone had rung and rung and gone to voicemail. No greeting or no automated ssage. Just ringing, then silence.
She had asked Karl. He had shrugged, his expression tight, his jaw set.
"I don’t know where she is," he had said. "And I don’t care."
But Bella cared. She couldn’t help it.
Mira had betrayed her. Mira had lied to her. Mira had let Krystal steal her work. That was true. That would always be true.
But Mira had also apologized. Mira had also tried to make things right. Mira had also stood up to Krystal, in her own small, hesitant way. She had promised to tell the truth. She had promised to face the consequences.
And then she had vanished.
Bella picked up her phone and found Mira’s contact. She pressed call.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three tis.
Soone picked up.
"Hello?"
It wasn’t Mira.
The voice was older female voice, sound soft, familiar in a distant way.
Bella said, confused, "Hello? Is this... is this Mira’s phone?"
"Yes. This is her mother. Maria."
Bella’s heart skipped. "Aunty? This is Bella. Mira’s friend from college."
Three second silence
Maria’s voice was polite, but there was sothing beneath it. Weariness, maybe or sadness. "Ah, Bella. Yes. Mira has ntioned you."
Bella asked, "Where is Mira? Is she okay? I’ve been trying to reach her, but she hasn’t responded."
Maria was quiet for a mont. Bella could hear sothing in the background, a television, maybe, or a radio. The sound of dishes clinking. The muffled noise of a house going about its day.
Maria said finally, "Mira is... busy. She’s been helping us at ho. I will call you later, okay? When she is free."
Bella frowned. "But—"
Maria repeated, her voice firm now, final, "I will call you later."
She hung up.
Bella stared at her phone.
The screen glowed, showing the call log, Mira’s na, the duration of the call. Thirty-two seconds. That was all.
Bella’s brow furrowed.
What’s going on?
Then she looked at her phone.
Bella bit her lip.
Then she picked up her phone and typed a ssage to Karl.
Bella: Sothing is wrong with Mira. Her mother answered. She sounded strange. Have you heard from her?
Karl’s response ca a minute later.
Karl: No and I told you. I don’t care.
Bella stared at the words.
She typed back: I care.
No response.
Bella set her phone down and stared out the window.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Moretti Group
Leo’s Office
The afternoon light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Dust motes floated in the golden beams, drifting lazily, like tiny stars falling through the air. Leo sat behind his massive desk, his gray eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his expression unreadable.
"Samuel Davis," he muttered, the na tasting foreign on his tongue.
He studied the photograph on the screen. Blonde hair, styled neatly. Striking blue eyes, almost too bright. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips curved in a pleasant, practiced smile. The man looked like he belonged on a magazine cover, like he had been engineered in a lab to be pleasing to the eye.
Leo slid the photo to the side and pulled up another image.
Jace.
The sa high cheekbones. The sa strong jaw. The sa shape of the eyes, the sa curve of the lips.
Leo’s eyes narrowed.
Now he rembered why Samuel had looked familiar. It had been nagging at him since the annual day, a splinter in his mind that he couldn’t dislodge. But now he understood.
Samuel looked like Jace.
Not identical. Jace’s hair was darker, almost black, while Samuel’s was light blond. Jace’s eyes were a deeper blue, like the ocean at midnight, while Samuel’s were pale, almost icy. Jace’s face was harder and more sculpted but the resemblance was there. In the bone structure. In the shape of the face. In the way they held themselves, even in still photographs.
Leo leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening.
"Sir." His assistant’s voice ca from the doorway. "The report you requested."
Leo nodded, not looking up. "Leave it."
The assistant stepped forward, placed a thick folder on the corner of the desk, and retreated quickly, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Leo stared at the folder for a long mont. The cream-colored cover stared back at him, blank and unassuming. Then he opened it.
Inside was everything his team had gathered on Samuel Davis and his girlfriend, Boba Chen.
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