Page 34 of Beneath the Surface

Ruth’s tone turned firm, almost like she was in lawyer mode. “Izzy, don’t sell yourself short. Brad’s not the type to do things out of obligation. If he’s opening up to you like this, it’s because he feels safe with you. I’ve seen how he looks at you—like he’s always thinking about you.”

“Really?” Isobel asked, surprised.

“Yes, really. And I’m sure the way he acts around you isn’t out of some sense of duty. If he’s spending time with you and sharing these personal parts of himself, it’s because he wants to. You deserve to explore that.”

Isobel was quiet, processing everything. “But I’m twenty-eight, and he’s forty. That’s a big gap, right?”

Ruth let out a small laugh. “Izzy, you’re both adults. You know age doesn’t matter if there’s a connection. What matters is how you feel about him.”

“I guess.” Isobel’s voice was softer now, less sure of herself. “I’m probably overthinking this, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little,” Ruth teased gently. “But that’s what I’m here for. To help you see things clearly. Let things happen naturally. You might be surprised how it turns out.”

A small smile tugged at Isobel’s lips. “Thanks, Ruthie. I really needed to talk this out.”

“Anytime, Iz. Now go get some rest, okay? And keep me posted on how things go with Brad.”

“I will,” Isobel promised, feeling a bit lighter. “Please don’t tell anyone else, especially our sisters.”

“I won’t break your trust or his. Now go to bed.”

“Good night, Ruthie.”

“Good night, Izzy.”

As the call ended, Isobel curled deeper into the couch, her thoughts still circling around Brad. The way he opened up to her, the way he talked about D/s with such calm confidence—it hadn’t pushed her away. If anything, it made her want to understand more. Maybe Ruth was right. Maybe it was time to stop overthinking and just see where things would go.

Thirteen

The last couple of weeks replayed in Isobel's mind, a relentless montage of grim scenes and tense interviews. Dead bodies matching descriptions from three previous cases made her worried and sick. Then there was the task of piecing together the investigation of Emma Coltrane’s circle. Each person she questioned held their own secrets, but Andrew’s callous words haunted her the most.

When Kathy called Emma’s doctors to discuss her health, two oncologists immediately reached out. Both emphasized that, while the chemotherapy was harsh, remission and a cure were possible. Without treatment, however, or with the alternative methods Emma's mother was considering, Emma likely wouldn’t survive beyond four months.

Isobel knew what needed to be done. She dictated an urgent addendum to her report, recommending immediate custody be transferred to Emma’s father.

But now, in the quiet of her apartment, her thoughts drifted back to Brad. Ruth was right—he didn’t need to take her to dinner. Yet he did, and that smile of his, the one that made her stomach flutter, lingered in her mind. Brad wasn’t just handsome or effortlessly charming; he was something more.Her childhood crush on him had deepened over the years, turning into feelings far more profound. Adult feelings that scared her.

She wondered about the age gap again. He was forty. Should that matter? Tonight was more than just a meal—they’d shared parts of themselves. Brad wasn’t just a good guy; he was an exceptional one. And since the bodies were found in the lake, he’d been protective of her in a way that made her heart race.

His words echoed what she had read in her research:submission is not about weakness; it’s about choice, about the desire to give up control in a safe, consensual environment.

Was that her? Did she have those traits, those desires? The idea made her pulse quicken. She had always been drawn to structure, to feeling safe under someone’s guidance. Maybe Brad saw that in her too. Maybe that was why she found his openness about the lifestyle so… arousing.

Isobel sighed and tried to shake the thoughts from her head. She took a deep breath and stripped down, heading to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, and at first nothing happened. She turned on the faucets more fully.

Suddenly, a strange buzzing sound interrupted the calm. Isobel opened her eyes, her stomach lurching with dread. A swarm of angry yellow jackets poured from the shower head, filling the bathroom, surrounding her in a terrifying cloud of buzzing rage. Panic surged through her as the first stings perforated her skin, sharp bursts of pain that made her gasp.

The buzzing grew louder, more frantic as the bees attacked her relentlessly. Isobel screamed, the sound bouncing off the tile walls as she threw open the glass door and bolted from the shower, dripping wet. She slammed the bathroom door behind her in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the vicious swarm. But it was too late. The wasps crawled in her hair, over her back, across her breasts and on her face and lips, stingingher again and again. Her skin flared with pain, red welts rising across her body.

She’d been stung only once before and by a single bee, never like this. The sheer number of stings overwhelmed her. Her throat began to tighten, and her breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Her vision blurred as her eyelids swelled. She stumbled toward her phone, barely managing to dial 911 before collapsing to the floor.

Waverly Junction’semergency services arrived quickly. No one had spoken to the operator—it was just an open phone line. The apartment door was locked. The fire department followed closely behind, led by Captain Jackson Reynolds—Olivia’s fiancé.

When he recognized the address, Jackson’s pulse pounded in his chest. “Break it down,” he ordered, his voice tight with worry.

Inside, the apartment was a scene of madness. The air hummed with the relentless buzzing of angry yellow jackets. Jackson ordered his team to back out to suit up in full protective gear. Finally, the paramedics were able to make their way inside. They found Isobel unconscious on the floor, her body swollen and covered in welts.

“Cap, we’ve got a serious situation,” the first paramedic called out. “She’s barely breathing.”

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