FADING SPOTLIGHT

Isabella woke up to the familiar sights of her room. The distant hymns from the Catholic church marked a bright Sunday morning. What happened the previous day felt surreal, like a never-ending nightmare.

She grabbed the television remote from the bedside drawer and powered it on, bringing the news channel to life.

"Some Twitter users have initiated a petition calling for the arrest of young actress Isabella Parker," the news anchor announced. "This follows a series of accusations made by TV show host William Hart last night."

Isabella crumpled a part of the bedsheet beneath her clenched fists, with her eyes fixed on the television screen.

"No!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the mansion.

Her mother, Cynthia, rushed into the room, moving closer to her. "Sweetheart, are you alright?" she asked.

"Who is doing this to me, Mom? Who?" Isabella clung to her, tears welling up.

"Everything will be fine, dear, don't worry."

"I hope so. I hope so, Mom."

As Isabella sought solace in her mother's company, sirens of police car wailed in the compound of their building. They exchanged glances and, in a flash, fled to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

Edward met them in the living room. "There's good news and bad news," he said.

"Start with the bad news," Isabella said.

"The media is gathered outside the house," Edward replied.

"And the good news? Why are the police here?" Isabella demanded.

"It's Mr. Michael Parker, "Edward informed. "He came with a police escort."

"Dad is here? How is that supposed to be good news?" Isabella retorted, rolling her eyes.

Cynthia stepped in, "Calm down, darling. We need to stand together as a family during this difficult time."

"Don't tell me that, Mom. Dad is to blame for my ruined life. I never wanted to become famous," Isabella roared and headed towards her room. "Shit!"

"Language!" Cynthia admonished her.

"I'm sorry," she replied with her hands in the air.

When Isabella got to her room's door, she stopped and wondered, "Did I leave the door partially open?"

In time, she dismissed the notion and entered the room. "Perhaps, Mom did."
__

The front door of the mansion opened, and a man in an executive outfit walked in with luggage. Cynthia rushed to him, embracing him.

"I heard what happened," the man said. "Is our daughter all right?"

"Yes, Michael, she's in her room," she said, releasing her hold. "I've missed you a lot. But what happened to your five-month trip?"

"Oh, i read the news about Isabella so i had to come home," Michael replied. "Family first."

Edward assisted Michael with his luggage, and then Michael and Cynthia ascended the stairs to their room in each other's arms.

Michael paused, squinting at a figure coming from Isabella's room.

"Who's she? I think I've seen her somewhere before," he murmured to Cynthia, nodding in the direction of the figure.

"Who? Selena? She's a maid servant," Cynthia replied him. "Did you say you've seen her before? She's from some old town. She came here about three months ago and rarely leaves the house. Now, tell me, how could you have seen her? You weren't even in the country."

"I don't remember where exactly, but I'm sure of what I'm saying," Michael insisted.

"People can look similar, maybe you saw someone who looks like her," Cynthia said with a chuckle.

Michael felt a sense of recognition as he kept glancing back at Selena while continuing upstairs with his wife, Cynthia.
__

In Isabella's room, she freshened up and drank the medicine Selena had brought minutes ago. Holding the empty glass cup, she read the news headline on the television screen: "New York City's popular actress, Isabella Parker, has been accused of murder."

Irritated, she threw the glass cup against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

"Whoever is doing this to me will pay!" she exclaimed.

A whistle pierced her ears. "That sound," Isabella pondered, "I think I've heard it before."

As she tried to locate the source of the whistle, she stumbled, nearly falling to the floor. She grunted in pain and clutched the wall for support. Slowly, she made it to the bed.

The whistle echoed in her ears once again, and she covered them with her hands, trying to block it out.

Isabella shivered uncontrollably, watching the wind in the room pick up, causing the curtains to flutter in the air. She felt like a fish out of water.

Amidst the unsettling atmosphere, another voice spoke directly to her, saying, "I've always liked you."

In distress, Isabella screamed with her hands still covering her ears, "Leave me alone, please!"

Kevin was passing by and swiftly entered Isabella's room upon hearing the scream. "Are you okay, sis?" he asked.

"I'm-- I'm alright," Isabella assured him, pulling him into a hug.

"Then, why are you crying?" he asked.

Isabella wiped her eyes. "I'm not crying, it's the wind... um... it got something in my eyes."

"The wind?" Kevin glanced around. "When did the wind blow so hard?"

Isabella found herself lost, reflecting on what she experienced.

"Sis, sis!" Kevin's voice snapped her back.

Isabella kissed his cheeks and led him out of her room. She walked into her wardrobe room and selected a sleek black dress with heart-shaped designs.

The wardrobe room was a chamber filled with an array of beautiful clothes, mostly in black, along with latest designer bags, shoes, and accessories.

Isabella slipped into the dress, paired it with matching grey heels, and carried a petite hanging bag. Standing before the large mirror, she combed her hair, applied a shimmering lip gloss, and then put on dark sunglasses.

She returned to her bedroom, closed all the windows, and locked the room before leaving. Though she had a lot on her mind, she moved through the hallway looking beautiful as always.

She got to the living room, and a voice from the staircase stopped her.
"Where are you off to?" the voice queried.

Recognizing the voice without turning to see who it was, Isabella replied, "I have somewhere important to go."

"But your car keys are there," Cynthia pointed out, gesturing towards the keys on the center table.

Isabella faced her. "If I take my car, the public will notice me and swarm around," she explained. "That's why I'm opting for a private Uber."

"You can use mine if you don't mind." Cynthia threw her car keys, and Isabella quickly grabbed them.

"Thanks, Mom," she acknowledged before making her way out through the front door.

From a distance, Isabella spotted media personnels and quickly entered her mom's chic red Audi A7, driving in the opposite direction.

After a few maneuvers, she steered towards the Holly Cemetery, veering left from the main road. The cemetery's imposing gate stood wide open, framed by two eagle statues on both sides, with a small garden nestled nearby.

Isabella came out of the car, plucked a rose flower from the small garden, and strolled through the cemetery. The trees swayed with a creak, and the haunting hoots of owls echoed through the silence.

She placed the flower on one of the tombstones and muttered with tears in her voice, "May your soul rot in hell!"

She went back into the car and, with a somber mood, continued her journey. She tuned the car radio to the news, where the presenter announced, "William Hart has  posted on his Twitter page that he has a shocking video to show the world this evening."

Isabella abruptly halted the car, her mind racing with curiosity. "What could this shocking video be?"