Her Scars, My Agony

Isabella’s face flashed with shock and panic at my proposal.

I stared at her intently. Last night, I’d had a deep tissue massage, hoping to see some sign of discomfort from her.

Unfortunately, she showed no signs of distress.

Was it still too early for the effects to show?

While I hesitated, Isabella had already spoken. “Miss Alessia, this is a critical moment for me to eliminate the target. I can’t rest. Don’t worry, I’m trained for this. A small wound like this is nothing to me.”

With that, she quickly grabbed a combat knife, poised to resume her practice.

I frowned and pressed her hand down.

She was definitely doing this on purpose.

Suppressing my anger, I put on the air of a helpless future Mamma. “The thing is, many of the Soldati on tonight’s operation were sent by my father to assist. I’d like to coordinate with them directly. If you really want to stay, don’t push yourself.”

With a single look, my personal bodyguard understood immediately. He collected all the weapons in front of Isabella and replaced them with a glass of water.

She wanted to argue but was deterred by my icy glare. She could only turn to Alessandro, seeking his help.

But Alessandro’s attention was entirely focused on the tactical map. To him, it didn’t matter who supervised, as long as the target was eliminated.

After several rounds of commands, I felt a faint, dull ache, but it was completely manageable.

I had been secretly observing Isabella. She communicated with her subordinates with casual ease, taking an occasional sip of water. Her physical state showed no abnormalities.

My self-care routine seemed to have no effect on her at all.

Damn it, what was going on?

Why did her injuries cause me excruciating pain, while my recovery left her completely unscathed?

By three in the morning, Alessandro finally lost his patience and called a halt to the operation.

“Alessia, what the hell are you doing? Our advance has slowed by more than half! Who wants to watch you micromanage this op like it's a wellness retreat!”

I studied Isabella again. When she stood up, her movements were still agile, a stark contrast to the soreness that ached through my entire body.

It seemed my first theory was wrong.

As Alessandro kicked me out of the war room, I faintly heard Isabella murmuring a complaint to him.

“Don, Miss Alessia went too far. This was clearly my mission, and she just came in and threw off the whole rhythm. You have to stand up for me.”

Alessandro gave her a few perfunctory words before heading back to his own room.

On my way back, I thought it over and over. Even if I stopped her tonight, there would be countless missions in the future. I had to figure out this mystery as soon as possible.

However, just as I lay down that night, a sharp pain, as if my ribs were being snapped, shot through me, causing me to bolt upright in bed. Cold sweat instantly drenched my pajamas.

Alessandro was woken by my stir, rubbing his sleepy eyes and looking at me with displeasure. “Are you that weak? You’re in this state after supervising for just a few hours?”

I was confused, too. This shouldn’t be happening.

Then came another dull thud of pain, as if I’d been struck by a heavy object, buckling me to my knees.

Alessandro impatiently got dressed. “If you can’t handle it, say so earlier next time. Now I have to call the doctor in the middle of the night.”

Acting on a gut instinct, I snatched Alessandro’s communicator and opened Isabella’s operational channel.

Just as I suspected, she had secretly led a team out again. The mission codename said it all: “Late-night practice, cleaning up loose ends.”

On the video feed, Isabella was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a burly man. She had dark circles under her eyes but wore a strange, manic smile.

Furious, I dialed her encrypted video call.

The call connected instantly, as if Isabella had expected me. Her signature mocking tone dripped through the speaker. “Well, well, Miss Alessia, why are you calling me? I’m in the middle of an interrogation. Do you want to come watch?”

I yelled, “What is going on? What have you done to me? Why do I feel your pain every time you get hurt?”

On the other end, Isabella said nothing. She just raised a dagger and, right in front of me, viciously sliced a gash into her own arm.

A bolt of intense pain shot through my arm, making me clutch it and collapse to the floor.

“If you don’t want me to get hurt,” Isabella’s voice was tired, yet laced with a sick excitement, “then get on your knees and beg me.”

Seeing that she was about to make a second cut, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and kneel, begging her to stop.

But a second later, she let out a piercing laugh and ended the call.

Alessandro snatched the communicator from my hand. “If you don’t go to the clinic, I’m not helping you.”

I had no strength left to respond. After a few more waves of searing pain, my vision went black, and I lost consciousness.

On the way to the family clinic, drifting in and out of consciousness, I thought I heard Isabella’s soft, mocking whisper in my ear: “This idiot will never know, even in death, that the truth is actually…”