Chapter 3
Zoe's POV
"Open this door!" The voice outside was low, menacing. I froze, trembling so hard I could barely stand. My heart thundered in my chest, threatening to choke me. The room was pitch black—I couldn't see a thing.
The voice came again, rougher this time. "You don't want me breaking this damn door down myself!" I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
Eyes wide, I scanned the room for any hint of where I was. Then, out of the darkness, a hand reached for mine. It was Chloe—my twin. Her grip was firm, and she pressed a finger to her lips: stay quiet.
Without a word, we slipped through the darkness, fear gripping our chests. We moved into what used to be our family kitchen. Chloe stopped by the freezer, opened it, and motioned for me to get in.
I got one foot in when—bam—a hand yanked me back by my hair. The grip was strong, masculine. I struggled to stay upright. A blinding flashlight hit my face, making it impossible to see who he was. I panicked. He grabbed my mouth to silence me, but I bit down—hard.
He yelled in pain.
I saw the gun in his other hand, aimed recklessly toward my face. I screamed—and just like that, I jolted awake.
Gasping, clutching a hand in my sleep, I opened my eyes.
"Chloe! Wake up!" a shaky voice called out.
But it wasn't Chloe. It was Mrs. Ross, sitting at the edge of my bed in her soft, dark nightgown with tiny flowers on it. Her hand gently stroked my hair.
"Was it another nightmare?" she asked softly.
I could barely nod. My body was frozen in the aftershock. This dream—it came every single night since the night my parents died. The night that tore everything apart.
I wanted to forget, but the memories never let me. They haunted me.
"It's just… some weird dream," I muttered between heavy breaths.
Mrs. Ross looked at me with gentle eyes. "Are you sure you're okay? You were shaking… holding my hand like you were drowning."
"I'm fine, Mrs…" I started to say, then stopped when she gave me that look.
"Margaret," I corrected myself with a small, awkward smile.
She nodded. "You should get ready for school. You're running late. Freshen up and head down for breakfast—I'll pack your lunch."
She tapped my leg and stood, leaving me to gather myself.
I lay there for a moment, not ready to face the day—especially not a new school, with kids who already didn't like me. I was still stuck in that nightmare, my mind looping back to the night everything went wrong.
Chloe had always been the wild one, full of energy and bright ideas. She was my anchor, my best friend, my twin flame. She could read me like a book. That night, she kept saying something felt off—kept warning us.
But we didn't listen.
We were too caught up in Dad's good news. He had just sealed a big deal with the Jethro partners—called Mom from the car, ecstatic. Said it was the break he'd been working towards for months. He hadn't slept in days.
We were all so happy that night.
All the sleepless nights had finally paid off.
We had no idea it would be the worst night of our lives.
I sat up, shaking the memories off. I had to stay strong. I glanced at the little clock on the nightstand.
"Oh my God—I'm late!"
I jumped out of bed. "Let's do this," I whispered to myself.
The morning air felt warm. As I pulled open the curtains, birds chirped in the distance, and soft voices echoed downstairs.
I paced around my room, debating what to wear. My brain was holding a full-on wardrobe conference.
Don't do too much.
What would Chloe wear? She always said not to draw too much attention, though she always got it anyway.
Today, I didn't want attention.
Jeans and a white blouse. Simple. Perfect. I pulled it from my closet, proud of myself. I added a choker—silver beads embedded in soft leather. One final touch: Chloe's boots.
Now I was ready.
The Ross household was buzzing with life. I could hear laughter, light conversations, and something that sounded like a coven of witches having breakfast. The entire house glowed—warm white lights, tiny ring lights along the ceiling, beautiful wallpaper. Whoever decorated this place had serious taste.
Soft music floated from upstairs. It soothed my nerves. I rubbed my neck and held my jean jacket tight around me.
Maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.
"Hey, stranger," a voice called.
I looked up. It was Seth, smiling. I wondered if something had changed. I smiled back, gripping my backpack like it might whisper the right words to say.
"You're late," he said. "Mom packed your lunch."
Before I could respond, Brandon walked past us without a word, heading straight for the door.
Cold as ever.
I didn't know what the day would bring—but I had a feeling it was going to be anything but ordinary.