I shouldn’t have come.
The second I stepped inside, I felt it—that stale, airless weight. The kind of silence that doesn’t belong in a home. Just dust and the echo of a girl who used to live here.
I told myself I was here to grab a few things. Maybe an old sketchbook, the sweater I always wore to bed. But I think I came for something else. A version of myself I’d left behind.
The apartment was exactly how I remembered it—except smaller, somehow. Dimmer. The blinds were still cracked at the edges. The faint smell of vanilla candles clung to the furniture. I dropped my keys on the counter and reached for the cabinet above the sink, already regretting it.
The scent hit me before the voice did. A cologne I hadn’t smelled in months. One I thought I’d erased from every surface I owned. But it clung. Sickly sweet. Chemical. Artificial confidence. Then I heard the sound I’d come to dread—the slow, precise click of the back door locking behind me.
Julian was already inside.
Before I could reach the hallway, he was there. Blocking the arch. Eyes black with satisfaction. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He looked thinner than I remembered. More erratic. Less polished. Less careful. Like a man who had nothing left to lose and something twisted to prove.
“Hello, baby,” he said softly, like we were old friends and not predator and prey.
I didn’t scream. I ran.
I didn’t get far.
His arm caught me around the waist, dragging me back through the kitchen before I could even get a hand on the phone. He slammed me against the fridge. My shoulder screamed. I clawed at his wrist, but he only pressed harder, his face close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath.
“You think you get to choose how the story ends?” he hissed. “You think a couple of lawyers make you untouchable?”
I kicked, hard. My heel caught his shin and he cursed, but didn’t let go. Instead, he shoved me backward until I hit the island counter. My hip caught the edge and pain exploded up my side.
“That house,” he spat. “This setup. Him. You think any of this protects you? You think he’s safe?”
I swung again. This time, my elbow connected with his jaw. His head snapped sideways and I felt the sting run up my arm. He staggered back, just for a second. It was all I needed.
I lunged for the knife drawer, yanked it open, grabbed the first one I touched. He saw the blade and paused. Laughed.
“You’re really going to stab me now? That’s who you are?”
I leveled it at his chest, breath wild, pulse screaming. “No. But if you take one more step, I’ll become her.”
He raised both hands mockingly, as if surrendering, but his eyes never left mine. “You’re shaking.”
“Because I’m done letting you take things from me.”
He lunged.
I screamed and ducked, slashing upward. The knife caught his forearm. Blood welled instantly, bright and wet and real. He screamed, grabbing his arm. His rage turned feral. He charged again, this time with more desperation than control. I braced for the impact—
And then the front door exploded open.
Vincent.
One punch landed clean to Julian’s gut. The air whooshed from his lungs. Another to the side of his head, snapping it back so hard I heard something crack. Julian crumpled to the floor, groaning, one hand still pressed to the bleeding gash I’d left on his arm.
Vincent didn’t stop. He pinned Julian with a knee to the chest, grabbed the front of his shirt, and dragged him up just enough to meet his eyes.
“You ever come near her again,” Vincent said, voice deadly quiet, “and they’ll never find what’s left of you.”
Julian wheezed, choked, spat blood. “You think she’s yours?”
Vincent slammed him back down. “She’s not a thing to be owned. She chose me. And that’s what kills you.”
I stood frozen, still clutching the knife, still shaking. I didn’t move until Vincent looked at me. Really looked.
“You okay?” he asked, eyes full of restrained panic.
I nodded. “I hurt him.”
His gaze dropped to the blade in my hand. “You protected yourself.”
“I stabbed him.”
“And I’m proud of you.”
My knees gave out. He caught me before I hit the ground. Wrapped his arms around me, tight, steady, real. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing him in, trying to drown out the smell of fear and blood and memory.
The sirens wailed in the distance. I didn’t know who had called them. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe the security system finally caught up. It didn’t matter.
Julian was still on the floor. Still groaning.
But I wasn’t the one frozen anymore.
I was standing.
I had scars and shaking hands and red on my palms, but I was standing.
By the time the cops arrived, I was wrapped in a blanket, sitting beside Vincent on the back porch, eyes focused on the horizon like it owed me something.
He turned to me once the officers had Julian in cuffs and said, “You don’t have to say anything to them if you don’t want.”
“I do,” I said. “Not for them. For me.”
He nodded, his voice breaking slightly. “Then say it all.”