The key turned in the lock earlier than I expected, and my stomach clenched. Brandon stepped inside, shaking off the drizzle from his coat, his hair damp at the edges.
"You're home early," I said, my voice flat.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You said not to rush, but… I was worried."
Something in me snapped at the word. Worried. Always watching. Always hovering. "You don't need to be."
He paused, setting his bag down slowly as though any sudden movement might spook me. "Amelia… talk to me. You've been... different."
I wrapped my arms around myself, staring past him at the rain-streaked window. "I don't want to talk."
Silence stretched, thick and heavy. He shifted closer, his voice softer. "I know you've been through hell. I just don't want you to shut me out now."
That was it — the part that made my chest ache with both longing and fury. I turned sharply, meeting his gaze. "Brandon, I need you to leave."
The words hung in the air, harsher than I'd meant them, but I couldn't take them back. His face fell, confusion and hurt flickering across it before he quickly masked it.
"This is your home," he said after a beat, steady but quiet. "If that's what you want, I'll go."
I nodded once, unable to look at him again. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.
He gathered his things without a word, pausing only at the door. "I'll… I'll check in tomorrow, just to know you're safe." His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn't wait for an answer.
The door clicked shut, and the flat felt impossibly silent. I pressed my fists to my eyes, fighting the sting of tears. I wanted to run after him, tell him to stay. But fear had rooted me in place, whispering that letting him in any deeper might destroy me all over again.
The flat was too quiet without Brandon. At first, I told myself it was a relief, but the silence quickly grew oppressive, like the walls themselves were leaning in to watch me. Every creak of the building, every murmur of traffic below, made me start. I found myself double-checking the locks, pulling the curtains shut, leaving the television on low just to drown out the hum of my own thoughts.
By morning, I hadn't really slept. My phone buzzed on the table and I jumped, heart hammering. Graham – Solicitor. The name on the screen only made my stomach twist tighter.
"Amelia," Graham's smooth voice filled the line when I answered. "I've been reviewing more of the documentation, and I think we should meet again tomorrow. There are certain discrepancies I'd like you to see for yourself."
I clutched the phone harder, staring out the window at nothing. "Discrepancies?"
"Yes," he said, calm, professional. Toocalm. Too rehearsed.
I swallowed hard. "And you're certain you're on my side in this?"
There was a pause, almost imperceptible, but my pulse caught on it. "Of course, Amelia. I'm your solicitor. My job is to protect your interests."
His words should have reassured me, but instead they made me feel colder. That's exactly what someone hiding something would say.
"I'll… think about it," I murmured, and hung up before he could say more.
The phone trembled in my hand as I set it down. My thoughts spun, looping back to the same conclusion: I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust anyone. Not Brandon. Not Graham. Not even my own parents.
I pressed my back to the wall, sliding down until I sat on the floor, knees drawn up. All I had left was myself — and for the first time, that felt terrifyingly small.
The phone lit up again that afternoon. I stared at it for a long moment before answering, already bracing myself.
"Amelia!" Kelly's familiar voice burst through, bright and warm, as if nothing in the world could be wrong. "I'm in London for a couple of days. I thought I'd check in on you — see how you're holding up."
For a moment, the sound of her voice made me ache with relief. But then suspicion slithered in, cold and sharp. Why now? Why London? Why me?
"That's… nice of you," I said carefully. My tone sounded flat, even to my own ears.
"Come on," she coaxed. "Let me buy you a coffee. We can talk, catch up properly."
I almost said no. Almost let her voice fade into the distance, safe behind a screen. But the thought of refusing felt like it would only raise more questions — and questions were dangerous.
So I agreed.
The café was busy, noisy enough to make me feel like I could disappear in the crowd. Kelly waved from a corner table, smiling like always, her coat still dusted with rain. She reached for me the second I sat down. "It's so good to see you," she said softly.
I managed a smile, but I kept my hands wrapped around the coffee cup, letting its heat ground me.
She asked about my ankle and my arm, about how I'd been coping after everything with Mark. Simple, friendly questions. And still, I couldn't shake the thought that Brandon might have called her, filled her in, asked her to dig.
So I kept my answers vague. "I'm managing. Taking it one day at a time."
Kelly studied me, tilting her head. "You seem… tired."
I forced a laugh. "Well, you try being stalked for days and nearly murdered. It takes it out of you."
She gave a sympathetic smile, but her eyes lingered on me a little too long. I looked away, my chest tight. She meant well — I knew she did. But what if Brandon had told her things I hadn't? What if she was here to get me to slip, to say too much?
I stirred my coffee and changed the subject, asking about the hospital, the train ride down, anything to deflect. She let me, though I could tell she wasn't convinced.
By the time we hugged goodbye, I was already pulling back. I couldn't tell her about Brandon. I couldn't tell her about my parents. I couldn't tell anyone.
As I walked home alone through the crowded streets, one thought gnawed at me: Even Kelly might not be safe.