I didn't touch the hidden phone again that night.
I wanted to. Every instinct screamed at me to go back, to pull it out, to read everything Isabelle had left behind. But fear held me still. Not the sharp kind—something heavier. The kind that settles into your bones and whispers that once you know too much, there's no turning back.
Julian's words echoed in my head as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
You're walking a path she didn't survive.
I didn't believe he'd killed her. Not after the way his voice had tightened when I asked. But believing he wasn't innocent was easier. Safer.
Sleep eventually dragged me under.
When I woke, the house was already alive.
"Today," Marianne said briskly at breakfast, "you'll be visiting the lake."
The fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against the plate.
Everyone looked up.
Julian's gaze sharpened immediately.
"That's unnecessary," he said.
Isabelle's father frowned. "She needs closure."
"I'm fine," I said quickly, though my pulse was racing. "I can go."
Julian looked at me as if I'd just made a mistake he couldn't undo.
The drive was silent.
Trees closed in on both sides of the narrow road, their branches arching overhead like a tunnel. The air felt colder the closer we got, damp and heavy, pressing against my chest.
The lake appeared suddenly.
Still.
Dark.
Too calm.
It looked harmless. Beautiful, even. Sunlight glinted across the surface, birds skimming low before lifting back into the sky.
"This is where they found you," Isabelle's mother said softly.
I swallowed. "I don't remember."
Julian watched me closely as I stepped closer to the water's edge.
"Isabelle hated this place," he said quietly.
I turned to him. "Then why come here?"
"Because someone wanted her here," he replied.
A chill ran through me.
I knelt, dipping my fingers into the water.
Cold.
Shockingly so.
If Isabelle hadn't known how to swim…
I pulled my hand back quickly, my heart pounding.
"This wasn't an accident," I said before I could stop myself.
Everyone went still.
Isabelle's mother inhaled sharply. "What did you say?"
"I—" I hesitated, then shook my head. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."
Julian's eyes never left my face.
"Let's go," he said firmly. "She's had enough."
That afternoon, the house felt different.
Uneasy.
I retreated to Isabelle's study, locking the door behind me. My hands trembled as I pulled the burner phone from its hiding place.
The screen flickered to life.
There were dozens of unsent messages. Drafts saved but never sent, each one a fragment of fear.
They're lying to me.
Someone keeps following me.
I think Julian knows more than he admits.
If I disappear, it wasn't my choice.
My chest tightened.
Then one message stood out, longer than the rest.
The lake was planned. I didn't go there alone. If you're reading this, it means I trusted the wrong person.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
I quickly hid the phone just as a knock came.
"Yes?" I called.
Julian entered, closing the door behind him.
"You shouldn't be digging," he said calmly.
My heart slammed. "Digging into what?"
"Into Isabelle's fears," he replied. "They consumed her."
"Or they were justified," I shot back.
He studied me. "You don't know what she was like near the end."
"Then tell me," I said.
Silence stretched between us.
"She didn't trust anyone," Julian said finally. "Not me. Not her parents. She thought everyone had an agenda."
"Did they?"
"Yes," he admitted. "Including me."
My breath caught. "What was yours?"
"To protect the family," he said. "At any cost."
That answer scared me more than a lie would have.
That night, the message came again.
Unknown number.
You went to the lake today.
My blood ran cold.
Another message followed.
She screamed. Did you?
I stared at the screen, my hands shaking.
Who is this? I typed.
The reply came instantly.
Someone who knows you're not her.
I locked my door, heart racing.
Someone was watching me closely enough to know where I'd been.
And they weren't afraid to prove it.
The next morning, I made a decision.
I couldn't stay passive.
I started with Isabelle's calendar.
Every appointment, every meeting from the last three months before her death—I studied them carefully. Patterns emerged. Names repeated.
One name appeared often enough to matter.
Marcus Hale.
The lawyer.
The same man who had brought me into this.
The realization hit hard.
He hadn't just arranged this.
He'd been part of her life before she died.
I confronted Julian that evening.
"You knew Hale before Isabelle died," I said.
His expression darkened. "Yes."
"And you didn't think to mention that?"
"He worked for the family," Julian replied. "He still does."
"Did Isabelle trust him?"
Julian hesitated. "At first."
"And later?"
"She stopped answering his calls."
My chest tightened.
"So he replaces her," I said slowly. "With me."
Julian looked at me sharply. "That wasn't my idea."
"But you agreed."
"Yes," he said. "Because whatever killed Isabelle would've come after the truth next."
"And what am I?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away.
"Bait," he said finally.
The word hit like ice water.
That night, I dreamed again.
But this time, the dream changed.
I wasn't drowning.
I was being held under.
Hands gripping my wrists.
A voice close to my ear.
You were never supposed to survive.
I woke screaming.
Someone was standing in my room.
I scrambled backward as the light clicked on.
Marianne stood there, her face pale. "You were shouting."
I nodded shakily. "I'm sorry."
She hesitated. "Isabelle used to have dreams like that."
My breath caught. "What kind of dreams?"
"Of being trapped," Marianne said softly. "Of not being believed."
After she left, I sat shaking on the bed.
The lie was closing in on me.
Isabelle hadn't drowned.
She'd been silenced.
And now, wearing her name and her face, I was standing exactly where she'd fallen.
The only question left was—
Would I disappear too?