Chapter 35: Foreshadow{2}
"There’s no way! It’s been what... two weeks!" Elisa snapped in return, a serious look on her face.
"I’m not going back to become a prisoner in that house!" she told Isadora, who looked at her sister, understanding where she was coming from. But at the same time, she also knew that they were not completely safe.
"We have bodyguards! What could possibly happen? It’s going to be a public place!" Elisa said, doing her best to convince Isadora, who couldn’t help but be a bit swayed by her sister’s insistence.
’I went to see designs for my wedding dress! All was fine!’ Isadora told herself, letting out a deep sigh as she tried to believe the same thing.
"We’re going to a restaurant—but definitely not a club," Isadora said firmly.
Elisa instantly nodded, her smile wide and wild with excitement. She grabbed Isadora’s arm, pulling her along as if afraid her older sister might change her mind.
Mr. Feliz took his leave shortly after, informing Isadora that he would see her the next day. She thanked him politely before heading off with Elisa, who was practically skipping as she pulled at her arm.
It didn’t take long before they settled on the restaurant they wanted—a luxurious place in the heart of the city with chandeliers that shimmered like hanging constellations and waiters dressed sharply in black and white. The air smelled faintly of jasmine tea and rich spices, and the soft hum of quiet conversations filled the background.
They were seated at a polished marble table near a large glass window that overlooked the street. The lighting was warm and golden, the kind of glow that made everything look richer than it was.
Ettore, Isadora’s personal bodyguard, stood a few feet behind them, his hands clasped neatly in front of him as he surveyed the room with a practiced, watchful gaze. His black suit and earpiece made him blend in seamlessly with the quiet, upscale environment, though his presence was unmistakably protective.
The sisters ordered a variety of dishes—grilled seafood, rice dumplings, and delicate rolls of lamb seasoned with rare spices. Elisa, as usual, was the one to talk the most, her words tumbling over one another as she chatted about everything from the film set to her boredom at home.
For the first time in a long while, Isadora felt almost at peace. The soft clinking of glasses, the subtle background music, and the calm rhythm of a normal evening gave her a fleeting sense of normalcy.
But just as she took another sip of her drink, Elisa suddenly pushed her chair back. "I’m going to the bathroom," she said, reaching for her small silver handbag.
Isadora frowned. "What? Why are you taking your bag?"
"Touching up my makeup," Elisa replied casually, her tone light, but her movements a little too quick.
Isadora nodded and turned slightly to gesture for Ettore to follow her. The middle-aged man immediately shifted, ready to move after her.
But Elisa groaned, lowering her voice to keep from attracting attention. "I’m not a baby, Isadora. It’s just the bathroom. Moreover, he can’t even enter the women’s bathroom!"
"He can check to ensure that it’s—"
"It’s safe, Dora. Look around us! It’s a high-end restaurant with cameras everywhere!" she said firmly, gesturing subtly toward the corners of the ceiling where tiny red lights blinked.
Isadora sighed heavily, reluctant but yielding. "Fine," she murmured.
Ettore leaned down slightly to speak. "Are you sure, ma’am? I can still have someone follow her," he offered, his tone calm but clearly uneasy.
Isadora shook her head, forcing a small smile. "She should be free to go to the bathroom by herself."
So he stayed, standing back at his position, though his eyes followed Elisa until she disappeared down the corridor that led to the restrooms.
Isadora continued eating, cutting slowly through her meal as she waited. The restaurant’s noise seemed softer now, her fork clinking louder against her plate than before. A few minutes passed, then ten.
Her smile faded into a frown.
Elisa still hadn’t returned.
Isadora’s hand went instinctively for her phone—its cracked screen lighting up as she began to text her sister. She waited for a response, tapping her fingers against the table as seconds stretched into long, uneasy minutes.
Still nothing.
Her chest tightened. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping lightly against the marble floor. Ettore was immediately alert.
"Something wrong?"
"She’s not answering," Isadora said, her voice tight with worry as she rushed toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
Ettore followed closely behind, his hand brushing lightly against the earpiece in his ear as if ready to call for backup if needed.
They pushed open the door to the restroom. It was empty. The stalls stood open, the faint sound of running water echoing in the polished space, but there was no sign of Elisa.
Isadora’s heartbeat quickened. "Elisa?" she called softly, stepping further inside. Still no answer.
Her phone buzzed suddenly in her hand, the sound so sharp in the quiet room that she almost dropped it. Quickly, she opened the message.
Relax! I’m at the Razor Club not far from here. You can come if you want!
For a second, all she could do was stare at the text, her mind blank with shock. Then anger flared through her veins, burning away her panic.
She breathed out shakily, part relief, part fury. "That reckless—" she began, biting off her words as she turned and marched back toward the main restaurant area.
Ettore followed silently as she picked up her bag from the table. "We’re heading to the club to pick her up," she said firmly, her voice tight with restrained anger.
The restaurant staff, sensing something was wrong, pointed her toward the back exit after she showed them a photo of her sister. One of them nodded knowingly. "A woman with long black hair left through the back about ten minutes ago," he said.
That was all Isadora needed to hear.
Within minutes, she and Ettore were outside, joined by two more bodyguards who had been waiting near the cars. The group moved quickly, the vehicles cutting through the city traffic toward the club Elisa had mentioned.
The Razor Club was one of those loud, neon-lit places that clashed against the calm refinement of the restaurant they had left. A red glow spilled from the entrance, and music pulsed faintly through the ground.
Isadora approached the bouncer at the door, showing him a photo of Elisa. "She came in earlier—did you see her?" she asked quickly.
The man studied the image and nodded. "Yeah, she was here. Came in about twenty minutes ago... but she left not long after with a couple of friends," he said.
Isadora’s relief was fleeting. The longer they searched the nearby streets and parking areas, the less sure she felt.
Minutes turned into nearly an hour. Her phone rang again and again, unanswered. Every message she sent came back unread.
The night air grew colder, her unease twisting into something heavier.
By the time an hour had passed, not only had they failed to find Elisa, but her phone had gone completely silent. No ring, no message, no signal at all.
Isadora stood by the car, the city lights reflecting off her pale face as realization began to sink in—something was terribly wrong.
