61. Exposed In Shadow

CHAPTER 61

Exposed In Shadow

ILEANA

The place they brought us to ... it's more prison than sanctuary. Not even a safe house. Just a dingy motel room with cracked walls and stained carpets. We've been here since seven A.M.

I fought.

I refused to leave the apartment, ignored their orders to pack and change, to step outside. I was still in my doorway when three more agents in black suits barged into my bedroom, hands resting on their guns. They didn’t have to say anything. Their message was clear. I had no choice.

Now I’m here, sitting on a bed that creaks with every move, staring at water-stained wallpaper while Agent Miller talks to my father. Their voices are low, but I can hear odd words, enough to fuel the fire in my chest.

"... need time to establish new identities ..."

"... at least a week to process ..."

"... keep her contained ..."

Her .

Like I’m a problem to store away. An object, not a person.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not the girl who faded into corners because my dad said it was safer. I’m not the girl who let herself shrink to nothing. I’m done being small. Done being silent.

My thoughts go back to this morning, to the ruined ballet shoes and black roses I left behind. My message to the only person who might understand.

Please let him understand .

Wren.

His name is a whisper in my mind, curling through my thoughts like smoke. He shouldn't matter. I should hate him for what he’s done, for the storm he brought into my life. But I don’t.

Because Wren sees me.

He saw me when no one else did. Not my father. Not my mother. He looked at me, and saw me. And now I know what it feels like to burn. To want.

"Ileana." My mother's voice pulls me from my thoughts. She’s standing in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. "Try to rest. It’s been a long day."

Rest . I almost laugh. How am I supposed to rest when the life I was finally discovering is being taken away?

The memory of this morning flashes back—Agent Miller at our door before dawn, my father’s grim face, my refusal.

"Pack what you can carry. Nothing traceable."

"No." My arms were crossed, my voice steady, even though my hands were shaking.

"This isn’t a discussion."

"I’m eighteen," I shot back. "You can’t just make me disappear because you’re scared."

His face had hardened. "You have no idea what’s at stake."

"Because you never told me!” The words burst out of me, years of silence finally breaking apart. “You just expect me to live like a ghost. To be nothing. To fade whenever you decide."

"Everything I did was to protect you."

"No. Everything you did was to control me. To make sure I had no power. No choices."

He’d grabbed my arm, his fingers biting into my skin. "Pack. Now. Or I’ll drag you out of here with nothing."

I’d pulled free. "Like you took me from my real father? Like you stole Victor Rossi’s heir?"

The silence that followed was cold. He’d turned away, jaw clenched. "Five minutes. Then we leave. "

Now my mother sits beside me on the bed. "You don’t need to look so angry. We’re doing this to keep you safe."

" Safe ." I spit the word out like it burns my tongue. "You think this is safety? Being dragged from my home, forced to leave everything behind?"

"You don't understand the danger?—"

"Because no one ever told me!" My voice rises, my frustration pouring out. "You and Dad just expected me to accept it. To follow your rules. Do you even realize what you’ve done to me? I don’t exist! "

“What are you talking about?”

“I. Don’t. Exist. No name. No bank account. No identity. I wouldn’t be able to survive on my own. If you left me alone tomorrow, I’d starve. I can’t get a job. I can’t get a house. I have nothing . You erased me so completely that I wouldn’t last a day without you.”

She flinches.

“And now you’re trying to do it again. Drag me away. Hide me somewhere else. Bury me deeper.”

She opens her mouth, but I shake my head.

“You say you’re protecting me, but Wren? He showed me the truth. He showed me what it feels like to exist. To matter .”

“Who is Wren?”

“The boy who sees me.” My voice is steady. “You don’t know him. You wouldn’t understand. But he’s the reason I’m fighting. He’s the reason I’m done letting you decide who I get to be.”

“You’re so young Ileana. You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think! Wren isn’t the one keeping me in a cage. You are. Dad is. You’ve turned me into someone who can’t survive on her own, and now you’re surprised I want something different.”

Tears spill down her cheeks. "We wanted to protect you."

"From what? From living? From having a life? From actually existing?"

"From people who would hurt you."

"Like you hurt my real father?" I spit the words out. "When you chose to leave him?"

"That was different." She looks away. "Victor ... he wasn’t a good man."

"But he was my father. And you took me from him."

Her lips tighten. "To save you. To give you a chance at something else."

"Something else?" I laugh, the sound rough and bitter. "You mean no life at all. Just ... a shadow existence. Never allowed to be real."

Her gaze turns back to me, something raw in her expression. "And you were content with that. Until him."

"Wren didn’t make me feel invisible.” I whisper.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing my arm, but I pull away. "Everything we did?—"

"Was about control." I rise, the need to move overpowering. "Just like my real father. But in a different way."

"We love you."

"You don’t even know me. I don’t know me!" My voice breaks, years of frustration pouring out. "If you loved me, really loved me, you’d let me live. You’d let me be more than just someone to hide. You need to let me discover who I am. Who Isabella Rossi was meant to be."

Her face twists, her breath catching. "And who is that? This girl who lets a boy leave marks on her skin? Who defies everything we taught her about staying safe?"

I think about the way Wren's hands felt, how he traced the curve of my neck, his lips brushing against my skin, leaving behind more than just marks. He makes me feel alive in ways I never imagined. He makes me want things—to be touched, to be seen, to be wanted.

“You made a choice once, didn’t you? You left Victor Rossi. You walked away. You fought for freedom. Why can’t I do the same? ”

She wipes her tears away. "That was different."

"Was it? Or are you just scared because I’m making the same choice? Because I’m done letting people decide who I get to be?"

She turns, her face crumpling. "Ileana?—"

"Isabella. Just like Annetta isn’t Maria. We’re both living lies."

"To survive."

"No." I shake my head. "To hide. But I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to survive. I want to live."

Her eyes glisten, her lip trembling. "Even if it gets you killed?"

"Even if it burns," I whisper, thinking of Wren’s eyes, the way he looked at me. "I’d rather burn bright than fade away."

"Ten minutes," Agent Miller calls through the door. "Then we move."

My mother turns to me, her gaze searching my face. "You’re not going to stay hidden this time, are you?"

"No." The truth feels like freedom. "I'm done being invisible."

She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, something has changed in her expression—understanding, maybe acceptance.

"He'll come for you." It's not quite a question.

"Yes." I have to believe that.

"And you'll go with him."

"Yes."

Her hand brushes my cheek, her touch trembling. "You’re braver than I was." She drops her hand, nodding once. And in her eyes, I see understanding. See the echo of another young woman who once chose freedom over safety.

“Go burn bright, my Isabella.”

Ten minutes. That’s all I have before they try to pull me deeper into their shadows. Ten minutes to fight my way back to the only person who’s ever seen me.

To the boy who taught me how to burn.

And the choice feels like freedom. Like flying.

Like me .