Married to the Wrong CEO

Chapter 37: Bouncing

Panic is said to be an accumulating process — a slow build of tension that claws at the mind until it finally spills over. But for Isadora, it happened all at once.

One moment she was standing near the parked cars under the dim lights of the street, the next her entire body froze as she watched Ettore — her personal bodyguard — giving sharp, clipped orders to the other men. His voice carried through the cool night air, precise and calm, though the edge in it betrayed his own urgency. The men moved swiftly, fanning out across the nearby buildings in groups of twos and threes, searching for any CCTV cameras that might have caught a glimpse of Elisa’s movements.

Yet as the minutes ticked away — ten, twenty, thirty — the silence that followed each attempt was unbearable. Every report that came back empty pressed down on Isadora like a physical weight, and with it, a dreadful realization began to take form. Something was terribly wrong.

It wasn’t just a simple disappearance.

The stillness that surrounded them carried the kind of heaviness that told her something deliberate had been done — planned, precise, and far beyond what she could comprehend.

Her chest tightened as she looked toward Ettore, who was speaking to another guard by the hood of a black car. He was older, composed, and his posture exuded the authority of someone used to dealing with crises. But even from where she stood, she could tell from the way his hand kept tightening around his phone that he wasn’t calm.

When he finally approached her, his expression was grim. "All the footage has been wiped clean," he said simply.

Isadora blinked. "Wiped?"

"In every direction — the restaurant, the alleys, even the back entrance. Someone erased everything within minutes of her leaving. The timestamps are gone too. It was done professionally."

The words didn’t make sense at first. They echoed around her like a foreign language before slowly sinking in. The shock was followed by something sharper — fear.

"What can we do?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed. "We should call the police!"

Ettore gave a short shake of his head, his tone firm but not unkind. "They won’t act until twenty-four hours have passed."

"That’s ridiculous!"

"It’s the law," he said flatly. "And the fact that they covered their tracks means we’re dealing with professionals."

Professionals. That word rang in her ears like a death sentence.

Her grip tightened around her phone until her knuckles went pale. She thought of Dante for a moment — the man who could command fear and obedience from anyone if he wished. She could call him. But the thought was fleeting and bitter.

’What could he do? I’ll just piss him off,’ she thought, lowering her head and staring at the cracked screen of her phone.

She stood there, in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a dozen men in dark suits who were waiting for orders, all of them armed and ready. And yet for all their presence, Isadora had never felt more powerless.

She could tell Dante had already been informed. Ettore would never keep something like this from him. But knowing that didn’t calm her. It made her feel smaller — like the situation had already slipped out of her control.

Her mind raced, every thought ending in the same suffocating conclusion: her sister was gone.

And for all she knew, Elisa might be in the very kind of situation she had spent her whole life trying to avoid.

Worry pressed into her chest until she could barely breathe. She turned sharply toward Ettore, her voice rising. "This is clearly Tiberio’s doing!" she whispered, the name trembling on her lips like venom. Ettore didn’t respond, but the brief flicker in his eyes told her he agreed.

"Can’t we barge into his house or something?" she asked, desperation seeping into every word.

"He wouldn’t dare do something so foolish when there are a thousand places he could take her to," Ettore replied, his tone low, almost regretful.

Isadora’s frown deepened. She wanted to scream. Instead, she clenched her phone and dialed Elisa’s number again — for the fifth, maybe sixth time — only to be met with the same cold response. The number you’re trying to reach is currently switched off.

Tears blurred her vision. Her throat tightened.

She turned to Ettore again, her voice sharp, trembling with anger and helplessness. "What then can you do? What the hell are you good for?"

Ettore didn’t flinch. He had been called worse in his lifetime, and he knew what was driving her outburst. Still, her words hit the air like shattered glass, and for a moment even the other guards stopped moving.

Night had fallen. The soft hum of the streetlamps cast a pale glow across the empty parking area, and the faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. The air was heavy, thick with the promise of rain.

But Isadora refused to leave. There was no way she could return to the estate without knowing whether her sister was alive. The very idea made her stomach twist in knots.

An hour passed. Ettore continued to make phone calls — to contacts, to informants, to whoever could offer a lead. Each time he returned, his expression grew darker. Every effort came up empty. No one had seen Elisa. No one had heard anything. It was as though she had vanished from the world.

Isadora could no longer stand still. Her body shook as she paced along the slick pavement, muttering half-formed prayers and curses under her breath. Then her phone rang, and her heart jumped.

She answered instantly, her voice breaking. "Elisa?"

But it wasn’t her.

It was her father.

"Isadora," his voice came through the line, heavy and tired, "is Elisa with you?"

Isadora’s heart dropped. "Yes," she said too quickly.

"Is she staying the night or—"

"She’s fine, Father," she interrupted, cutting him off before her voice betrayed her. "She’s with me."

He seemed to hesitate, then sighed. "Good."

She ended the call before he could ask more. Her hand trembled as she lowered the phone. The lie left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain. Not yet.

The drizzle began a few minutes later — soft at first, then steadier, the kind that blurred the streetlights and dampened the world into silence. Ettore walked up to her, his hair beginning to darken with rain. "We should leave," he said quietly. "It’s getting late." freёwebnovel.com

Isadora didn’t move. Her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. "I’m not leaving without her."

"It’s dangerous to stay out here."

She shook her head, and Ettore exhaled through his nose, motioning for a few men to keep the perimeter secure while others waited by the cars. The drizzle turned to a downpour, the air filled with the harsh drumming of rain against metal and stone.

And then — everything changed.

They were still walking toward the cars when a vehicle came speeding into the lot, its headlights slicing through the curtain of rain. The tires screeched as it swerved — but it didn’t stop.

Something was thrown out.

A body.

Isadora froze where she stood, the sound of the impact echoing in her skull. The car didn’t wait — it sped off, the screech of its tires trailing into the storm.

For one long, endless second, no one moved. Then Ettore snapped into action.

"Go!" he barked to his men. "Follow that car! Now!"

Half of them sprinted toward their own vehicles, while the others rushed to the figure on the ground. Ettore was already moving, his steps steady despite the slick pavement, rain soaking through his jacket as he reached the body.

Isadora followed, though her legs felt like they weren’t her own. The world had narrowed — the roar of the rain, the glare of the lights, the smell of wet asphalt — and in the middle of it all was a motionless figure lying face down.

Her heart dropped.

"Elisa..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

Ettore knelt beside the body and turned it slightly. The sight made his breath catch.

Isadora stumbled forward, falling to her knees despite Ettore’s attempt to stop her. She didn’t care about the mud or the rain or the cold — all she could see was her sister. Naked. Bruised. Blood streaking her skin in jagged lines.

Her hands trembled violently as she reached out, her voice choking. "Elisa..."

She’s still alive

But nothing in the world prepared her for the detail her eyes caught next — the small, impossible absences that sent her mind into freefall.

Her pinky finger was gone. So was her toe. Four in total.

The realization hit her like a physical blow, and for a moment, the world tilted.

Never in her life had she seen such horror. Not even in her worst nightmares.

It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

And yet, there she was — her sister’s broken body under the rain, her blood mixing with the water that rushed down the pavement — a grotesque reminder that whatever had happened was not random. It was a message.

A warning.

Isadora could barely breathe. Her hands hovered helplessly over Elisa’s face, her voice nothing but a hoarse whisper against the thunder above.

"Elisa... what did they do to you?"

The sound of approaching sirens echoed faintly in the distance — but for Isadora, the damage had already been done.