POV Noelle
The idea comes to me in the quiet. Not as a plan. Not even as a decision.
Just a thought that slips in when my guard is down, when the apartment feels wrong without Luna’s breathing in the next room and Owen’s tension lingers in the walls like static.
I could pay him!
The thought settles heavy in my chest, almost soothing in its simplicity. One payment. Enough to make Warren disappear. Enough to make the fear stop buzzing under my skin every time my phone lights up or a car slows outside the building. And enough to bring my daughter home.
I don’t tell Owen. I already know how that conversation would end, sharp and final. I don’t tell my father either.
I don’t want strategy or leverage or men pulling strings on my behalf. I call Jamie.
Her voice changes immediately. “I’m listening.”
“I’m thinking about paying him,” I admit. “Just once. Just to make this stop.”
There’s a pause on the line. No hesitation. Control.
“Noelle,” Jamie says carefully, “I need you to stay with me for a minute before you do anything.”
“I am,” I reply. “That’s why I called.”
She exhales slowly. “You’re exhausted. But paying him won’t end this.”
“It could,” I argue, even as the words feel thin. “Money is what he wants.”
“Money is what he’s using,” Jamie says. “Control is what he wants.”
I sink down onto the couch, pressing my fingers into my temple. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she replies. “Because I knew him before you did.”
That makes me still.
“You knew him in college,” she continues. “Before everything blew up. Before he decided you were his grievance.”
My stomach tightens. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jamie says, voice steady but sharper now, “that Warren didn’t start out dangerous. He started out entitled.”
The word lands like a key turning in a lock.
“He attached himself to you early,” she continues. “You remember that, right. Study groups. Late-night ‘help’ sessions he never actually helped with.”
I close my eyes. “He said he admired me.”
“He admired what you represented,” Jamie corrects. “Access. Intelligence. Status. You were connected to people he wanted proximity to.”
“He never touched me,” I say quietly.
“No,” Jamie agrees. “That’s how he made himself look harmless.”
Memories surface, unwanted but vivid. Warren lingering after class. Sitting too close at library tables. Laughing too loudly at things I hadn’t meant as jokes.
“He used to say I made him better,” I murmur.
“Yes,” Jamie says. “He said that to make you feel responsible for him.”
I swallow. “He said I owed him honesty.”
“He said you owed him time,” Jamie replies. “And when you stopped giving it, he reframed it as betrayal.”
The word betrayal makes my chest ache.
“He told everyone I led him on,” I say.
“He told everyone you humiliated him,” Jamie answers. “That you used him and discarded him. That he sacrificed his grades, his focus, his future because he believed in you.”
“That wasn’t true,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “But it was convincing. He didn’t ruin his life because of you. He ruined it because he couldn’t stand not being central to someone else’s.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “He said I destroyed him.”
“He says that about women who don’t comply,” Jamie replies. “He always has.”
I stare at the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this back then.”
“Because you were already blaming yourself,” she says gently. “And because he was gone. Or we thought he was.”
Silence stretches between us.
“If I pay him,” I say slowly, “I can bring Luna home.”
“For how long?” Jamie asks quietly.
I don’t answer.
“For how long before he comes back,” she continues, “asking for more. Or reminding you he knows where she sleeps. Or deciding money isn’t enough anymore.”
My hands curl into fists. “I just want this to stop.”
“I know,” Jamie says. “But Warren doesn’t stop. He escalates.”
I press my palm against my forehead. “What if I do it quietly? What if no one knows?”
“He will,” Jamie replies immediately. “And once he knows you were willing, he’ll never forget it.”
The truth sinks in slowly, painfully.
“He always wanted proof he mattered,” she adds. “If you pay him, you give him that proof.”
I picture Warren’s face from college, the way his eyes sharpened when he thought he’d gained ground. The way he smiled when people deferred to him.
“He’s not afraid of you,” Jamie continues. “He’s afraid of being irrelevant. Paying him gives him relevance again.”
“What if something happens to Luna while we wait,” I whisper.
“That fear is exactly what he’s counting on,” she says softly.
“So what am I supposed to do,” I demand, my voice cracking. “Sit still while men decide whether my child is collateral.”
“No,” Jamie says firmly. “You protect her without feeding him.”
“How,” I ask.
“By refusing to teach him that fear is profitable,” she answers. “And by remembering who he really is. He’s small. Furious and desperate to matter.”
The image settles into place, unsettling and clarifying.
“If you pay him now,” she continues, “you won’t be buying peace. You’ll be renting silence. And the price will keep rising.”
I close my eyes. “I hate that you’re right.”
“I know,” she says. “That doesn’t make it easier.”
The call goes quiet for a moment. Not disconnected. Just breathing on both ends.
“I need to do something,” I say finally. “I can’t just wait.”
“I know,” Jamie replies. “But doing something doesn’t have to mean giving him what he wants.”
“I don’t want Owen to become someone he can’t come back from,” I admit.
“Then don’t solve this alone,” Jamie says.
“I’m tired of men deciding things for me,” I say.
“Then decide,” she answers. “Just don’t confuse urgency with surrender.”
I let that sit. “I’m scared,” I say.
“Yes,” Jamie replies. “But you’re not powerless. You never were.”
When the call ends, the apartment feels too quiet again. But something inside me has shifted. Jamie is right. I know she is.
If I pay Warren, he will return. Louder. Bolder and hungrier. Fear taught me endurance once. Silence taught me survival.
But I’m not that girl anymore. I stand and walk to the window, looking out at the city stretched below me. Somewhere in it, Warren is waiting, convinced fear will buy him power.
I rest my hand over my stomach, breathing slowly. I will protect my daughter. But I will not teach her that monsters get paid to go away.
Whatever I do next, it won’t be quiet. And it won’t be his choice.