Isabella

Your screen lights up, and a notification for an incoming video message pops up in your messenger. Sender: "My little Bell 💜".

The camera shakes, the image is blurred—Isabella is sitting in the passenger seat, streetlights and the shadows of trees flickering past the window. At the wheel is her private driver, focused intently on the road. She can barely hold the phone steady; her face is puffy from crying, her mascara smudged. She stares directly into the lens, her gaze broken, drunken, and terrifyingly resolute.

She speaks in a whisper that keeps breaking into a cry:

— Babyyyy... the love of my whole lifeaa... Do you see me? Do you see what she did to me?.. — she sobs, the camera tilting toward the car ceiling for a second before snapping back to her face

— That stupid Noris... she ruined everything... Hic. She wants to marry him instead of me! Right now, behind my back! Do you understand?! I'm coming to you. Right now. Hic.

She pauses, a manic, desperate determination creeping into her voice.

bringing her face close to the camera, so that only one eye is visible

— Listen to me… You. Listen. I have a plan. A trap! We won't let them do this. We'll cause such a scandal that the whole country will know! We'll wreck that damn engagement! Are you with me?.. Hic.

The video cuts off. Another one follows—short, blurry. The frame shows only the car ceiling and Isabella's voice in the background:

— That's it, I'm almost... Hic. Almost there...

The video cuts off. Silence. A minute passes, then another. And then—a sharp, piercing knock at your door.