"Ms Dupont, sources are suggesting that your biggest rival in the political field maybe responsible for your daughter, Aurèlie's disappearance. Care to elaborate more?"

Isabella Dupont, a dutiful and hardworking politician, whose reputation and success was built on nothing but with her dedication and her determination for justice. Her success gave her the chance to be the leading contestant for the upcoming elections. However, her political career was on the brink of collapsing as her twelve year old daughter, Aurèlie, hadn't returned from her school and had been gone for over twenty four hours. The conference being held at her house added more pressure as the reporters flashed bright lights that was almost blinding with their cameras and the press bombarding her with serious questions.

"Yes, I am well aware of the accusations about Victor Lefebvre being involved, but I do not think that is necessary right now. The only thing that is important to me is finding my daughter."

Everywhere began to become noisy because of the whispers that were being exchanged between one journalist to another.

"But even you know our sources have never failed us before Ms Dupont. Don't you think that the entire public should deserve a little transparency? Or is that you are trying your best to cover up for Mr Lefebvre because of some reason we are unaware of?"

Isabella looked at this particular journalist from his toe to his head before she responded. "Look, I am already cooperating with the authorities and I believe they are handling the matter. I am not here to fuel up your baseless rumours."

The crowd still shared and exchanged whispers amongst themselves until one of them asked her a question that lead everywhere to be quiet.

"Excusez-Moi Madame, If I may ask, do you think the reason for mademoiselle Aurèlie's disappearance was due to your inconsistencies in taking care of her as your daughter? I mean, critics do argue that your career has made you compromise your duties of you being a good mother and taking care of Mademoiselle Aurèlie."

The journalist's words infuriated Isabella as she angrily banged on the table and got up from her seat.

"Comment Osez-vous! Are you seriously questioning my capabilities of being a good mother? My parenting isn't on trial that I would have to give myself an explanation, Bande d'imbéciles!" She walked out on all of them as she banged the door loudly only leaving them all with one question, what was going on in this woman's mind?

A few minutes later, after the flurry of camera clicks and the so called urgent questions from the journalists and photographers had subsided, Isabella went to the bathroom with her fist clenched and her face squeezed, trying her best to seek a moment of solitude.

Isabella stepped into her bathroom that was enveloped by an unsettling silence. The air was heavy with stagnation, and the darkness seemed to press against her skin. She searched for the light switch, but the bulb was dead, putting her into an uncomfortable position. The only sound was the faint hum of the house's pipes and the creaks of the old building settling around her.

As she stood before the sink, the mirror's absence of reflection made her feel disconnected from reality. The smell of stale water and mildew filled her nostrils, making her grow nauseous. She washed her hands, the water's temperature fluctuating between hot and cold, making her skin to prickle.

Isabella's mind began to wander. The journalists' probing questions, the photographers' over bright lenses, and the weight of her anxiety threatened to suffocate her. She felt trapped, like the bathroom was shrinking around her.

Suddenly, a faint draft caressed her neck, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. She spun around, but there was no visible source for the breeze. All the windows in the bathroom were closed. As she turned back facing the mirror, she knew someone had broken into her house, watching her every move.

"Who's there?" Isabella called out, her voice trembling slightly. "I know someone is in here. Show yourself. Who are you?" Her voice seemed to be lost in the darkness, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Then, suddenly, out of the blue, she heard a low pitched voice. "Je suis ton pire cauchemar."

As she tried to turn around again, a cold hand clamped over Isabella's mouth, silencing her scream. The attacker's grip was like a vice, his cold and broad fingers digging into her jaw.

Isabella's panic exploded, her heart beating fast and wildly. She tried to struggle, but the attacker's strength was too overwhelming. His breath reeked of cheap cigarettes and his cologne, a pungent scent she recognised as, Parfum Éclipse de Minuit, the stench filled her nostrils.

The attacker spun her around, slamming her against the sink, making her bleed on the forehead. Isabella's eyes blurred, her vision tunneling. She felt his blue jeans against her legs, his black leather jacket creaking as he moved and his muddy blue sneakers making the floor dirty.

"Vous allez mourir", he hissed, his voice low and gravelly.

Isabella's desperation surged. She scratched at his arm, her nails raking across his skin. The attacker grunted and his grip loosening.

Seizing the moment, Isabella tried to break free, but he pinned her against the sink. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, a faint scar above his left eyebrow.

The knife flashed, its blade glinting in the faint light. Isabella's fear peaked, her mind racing with terror. This can't be happening.

The attacker's movements were swift and precise. He stabbed her in the lower back three times, the pain erupted like wildfire. Isabella's legs buckled.

As she fell, she saw the attacker's locket, engraved with "J.D.," clatter to the floor. He jumped out the window, disappearing into the night.

Isabella's thoughts fragmented, being in contact with her own blood, her vision fading. She felt herself drifting, her life was slipping away.

Moments later, one of Isabella's maids, Colette, a woman that was just about Isabella's age, heard a strange noise coming from the bathroom. "Madame Isabella?" she called out, receiving no response.

Colette rushed upstairs to grab a lamp and returned to find Isabella on the floor, motionless.

"Quelqu'un aider, quelqu'un aider! Madame est blessée!"

Colette immediately called the driver, Andrew, an old man that has worked for Isabella for almost all his life, and together they rushed Isabella to the hospital.

"Pierre, we must hurry! Madame Isabella is bleeding severely!" Colette exclaimed, her voice shaking.

"Hold on, Madame Isabella, we're almost there," Pierre reassured, speeding through the streets.

Colette applied pressure to Isabella's wound, trying to stem the bleeding. "Stay with us, Madame. Don't leave us."

At the hospital, they burst through the emergency room doors, and the medical staff quickly took over. After a few hours, the doctor came out and Colette responded by almost jumping out of where she was sitting.

"Doctor, is she okay?" Colette asked, frantic.

The doctor smiled reassuringly. "She'll be fine, but we need to file a police report. The stab wound was severe, and we found evidence of a struggle."

As they waited, Pierre and Colette entered Isabella's room to find her on life support.

"Ms. Dupont, are you alright?" Colette asked, tears streaming down her face.

Isabella's eyes flickered open, and she tried to respond. "I'm...I...am..."

Suddenly, her condition worsened, and she convulsed on the hospital bed.

"Ms. Dupont?! Doctor, doctor, please come fast!" Colette shouted, rushing to call for help.

Before the doctor could examine her, It was too late. Isabella had already slipped into a coma.