I swear, silence has a sound. It isn't empty—it screams. It claws at the walls. It eats at your soul.
That was Bella's reality.
The house was too quiet, too hot, and too heavy. The Abuja sun roasted the zinc roofs outside, but it was her mother's silence that blistered her skin. Silence sharper than curses, deadlier than slaps.
It had been three weeks since the abortion. Six weeks since Chris's absence stretched into infinity. Three weeks since her mother's gaze turned from cold to poisonous.
And Bella—she was unraveling.
She sat on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling through old chats she should have deleted long ago. The ones with Chris. The "I miss you" messages. The voice notes were his baritone melted into her bones. The pictures he sent at 2 a.m., shirtless, teasing, begging her to come over.
Her phone felt like a lifeline. If she scrolled far enough, maybe she'd find the girl who laughed, who planned, who believed.
But now? Love was ashes. And the silence in the house was smoke.
Her mother's footsteps echoed from the kitchen, steady and sharp. Bella froze, ears straining. But nothing came. No words. No insults. Only silence.
"God…" Bella whispered into the empty air, tears threatening. "This silence is killing me."
And then—her phone rang.
She jumped. The shrill vibration slipped from her grip. Her heart kicked into her throat. For one wild second, she thought: Chris.
She didn't check the caller ID. She swiped, desperate for noise, for any human voice to drown out the quiet.
"Hello?" her voice cracked.
A pause. "Then—"Bella."
The voice was velvet. Low. Smooth. Sinful.
Her stomach plummeted. Adrian.
Her past. Her sin. Her second chaos.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The air seemed to thicken around her. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Adrian chuckled as if he could see her frozen on the other side of the line. "Still beautiful in your silence. Still mine."
Bella's fingers tightened around the phone. "Adrian…" Her voice was a whisper, half shock, half fury. "Why are you calling me?"
"Why not?" His tone was playful and teasing but edged with something darker. "It's been too long. I miss you. Don't you miss me?"
Her chest heaved. Old images flashed in her head—his lips on hers, his hands on her skin, the fire they once lit behind locked doors. She pushed the memories away with force.
"Stop it." Her voice was firm now. "Don't start this. You don't get to call me out of nowhere and talk like nothing happened."
"Oh, Bella," Adrian sighed, his voice smooth as honey. "You're angry. That's good. Anger means you still feel something. If you were over me, you'd be indifferent. But you're not. You never were."
Her pulse raced. "You're wrong. I feel nothing for you. Nothing."
Another soft chuckle. "Then why haven't you blocked me? Why did you pick up without checking who it was? Hmm?"
Her throat tightened. Damn him—he was right.
"Adrian," she snapped. "Say what you want. I don't have time for this."
His tone shifted. The teasing melted into something sharp. "Fine. I'll ask what I called for." A pause, heavy, loaded. "… Is it mine?"
Bella blinked, confused. "What? What are you talking about?"
"The baby." His words cut like glass. "Is it mine, Bella?"
Her world tilted. Heat surged to her face. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me," Adrian said, voice lower now, dangerous. "I know you were pregnant. I know you took it out. I only need to know—was it mine?"
Her mouth went dry. Her heart slammed against her ribs. How did he know? Who told him?
"Adrian," she whispered, voice shaking. "There's no baby. Not anymore. And you—don't ever bring this up again."
"So it's true then," he said, voice stripped of feeling. "You killed it."
Tears stung her eyes. "Don't you dare—"
"Don't I dare what? Hold you accountable? You slept with me, Bella. You let me in. And now you're with Chris, acting holy, acting innocent. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
His voice rose, anger bleeding through the calm. "Did you think secrets stay buried?"
Her body trembled, rage and shame colliding. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what I've been through. Don't twist this, Adrian. Don't make it about you."
"Oh, it's about me," he snapped. "It's about me because that baby could have been mine. And you never gave me the chance to know."
Bella wiped her tears roughly, her voice breaking but fierce. "That's because you were never in a chance, Adrian. You were a mistake. A dangerous one. And I'll never—never—let you drag me back into your chaos again."
Silence crackled on the line. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Adrian spoke, his tone cold and final. "You think you're done with me? You're not. Secrets don't die, Bella. They hunt."
Something inside Bella snapped. Tears filled her eyes, but her voice turned to steel.
"You listen to me, Adrian," she hissed. "You don't get to call me and spit poison into my life. What we had is over. Dead. Buried. You don't own me, you don't touch me, and you don't speak to me like that ever again. Do you hear me?"
Silence crackled.
"Adrian," she pressed on, her voice breaking but blazing, "Don't ever call me again. Don't stalk me. Don't whisper my name like you still have power over me. You don't. You are nothing to me. Nothing."
The line went dead.
Bella's phone slipped from her hand. She stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving, fists clenched.
For once, she hadn't let him win. For once, she stood tall.
But when the silence returned, when the weight of the house closed in again, her strength crumbled. She sank to the bed, clutching her temples.
Her heart was in shambles.
Because Adrian's voice had stirred questions she wasn't ready to face. What if he was telling the truth? What if he knew something she didn't?
And then Chris. God, Chris.
Was he in Chicago, buried in schoolwork like he claimed? Or was he back to his mess—his secrets, his chaos? Why had he grown so distant right when she needed him most?
Her mother's sudden hatred for Chris throbbed in her mind like a wound. It didn't add up. Disgust twisted her face, rage simmering as if she knew something Bella didn't. Something hidden and dangerous.
Bella pressed her palms to her temples as the headache worsened.
Chris. The man she loved, the man who made her body sing, was now the shadow haunting her dreams.
Chris was her nightmare.
And deep down, Bella knew it—Chris was up to something.
The silence pressed harder, suffocating.
Her phone buzzed again.
One new message. From Chris.
Her breath caught as she opened it.
Only three words stared back at her, sharp as knives:
"We need to talk."