I was dragging myself toward the bathroom when my phone buzzed again—a message from Miles.
"I found a safer place. Be ready in five minutes. I'll be downstairs."
Safer place. The words made me pause, heartbeat spiking. My apartment had become a trap. If I couldn't trust my own walls, then everywhere was unsafe. Yes—this was what I needed.
I flung on a coat over my pajamas, wiped the crust from my eyes, and moved through the dim apartment like a ghost trying to escape its own haunting. Avery stirred when I passed her door.
"Are you going somewhere?" she asked, voice groggy.
"Yes," I whispered. "Miles said he has a place. I can't stay here."
She sat up, eyes reddened. "Scarlett… just promise me you'll be safe. Call me when you reach."
I nodded, gave her a quick hug. She muttered, "I love you," and then I was out.
Down in the lobby, the lights were low. The building's late‑night glow felt hollow. The elevator ride felt too slow. Every floor chime knocked against my chest like a warning.
When I reached the ground floor, Miles was there—lean, dark, efficient—TV screen glare catching in his eyes. Next to him, a black sedan idled, its engine humming quietly.
He looked up when I stepped out of the elevator. "Get in," he said, voice low but safe.
I nodded and walked across the lobby. My legs felt like jelly. I slid into the back seat; the interior smelled of leather and faint cologne. The door shut behind me with a muted click.
Miles slid in beside me, not touching, just occupying space. The driver—a man introduced to me once in passing—sat ahead. The car pulled away before Avery's worry could catch up with me.
Inside, silence enveloped us. I watched the city lights smear past. The familiar streets felt strange, frail, unreal. I swallowed.
Miles finally spoke. "You okay?"
I turned, stoic. "As okay as someone who's been erased can be."
He nodded. "We've arranged a suite at the Parkview Hotel. Private, off the grid. No ties to Evans or Blake. You'll be safe there."
"Thank you," I said. The words slid out raw.
He glanced at me. "I'm doing more than safe. I'm working on evidence. Paper trails. Secrets. Things they forgot to delete."
My throat went tight. "I don't trust them to have left anything."
"They did plenty poorly," he replied quietly. "I've already traced several suspicious transfers, locked accounts, shell companies. You're not erased everywhere. Not yet."
I sank back in the seat. The car slowed, turned. The city gave way to quieter roads. Streetlights grew sparse. I closed my eyes and let exhaustion press in.
After a few minutes, the car rolled up to the Parkview Hotel. It was elegant but discreet—no flashing sign, just a modest facade. The doorman took Miles's nod and held the door for us.
We entered. The lobby was hushed and classical—soft lighting, marble floors, one grand piano in a corner unplayed. We strode across it. No stares. Just calm movement.
Miles and I checked in under a pseudonym. I gave a card in my name—but in a shell corporation that he controlled. He nodded curtly at the clerk. We got one of the top suites, a corner room with blackout curtains, separate entrances for service staff so no one would know my comings and goings.
We exited the elevator on the floor. The hallway was long and quiet. I clung to Miles's arm. My heart felt flayed.
Inside the suite, he flicked the lights on. The room was spacious, tastefully decorated—muted tones, heavy drapes, luxury without flashiness. He set my overnight bag on a chair. I sank onto the plush sofa.
Miles closed the door and locked it with a key that jingled as he pocketed it. He looked at me, expression serious.
"Get some rest," he said. "I'll stay nearby. If anything moves, I'll know."
"I don't know how to rest right now," I whispered. "My mind won't stop."
He sat across, folding one leg over the other. "I know. But you have to survive this. Strength in volt. Weakness is what they're hoping you show."
I nodded weakly. My voice caught. "I'm scared."
He leaned forward. "You're allowed to be. But fear doesn't get to decide your life."
For a moment, we just sat—two people surrounded by walls that would not betray me. Outside, in the hall, footsteps might pass. Doors might open or close. But here—I had a moment of refuge.
I looked around: nothing personal. No photo frames. No echoes of me. The emptiness felt like both prison and sanctuary.
"Do you think…" My voice cracked, "Do you think I'll ever get it back? My name, my life?"
Miles met my eyes. He spoke softly but firmly. "Yes. You will. Not overnight. Not painless. But yes. You will."
I exhaled hard. The weight had been constant; hearing that gave me a flicker of light.
"Do you know where Cole Blackwood is in all this?" I asked. His name felt like traction. A man I didn't yet fully trust, but whose shadow loomed.
Miles already sat up straighter. "He instructed me to keep tabs. His empire doesn't touch this fight—yet. But he's interested in your case. You gave him a name, a face—something rare in this mess. Someone worth protecting."
My heartbeat hit a higher note. "Protecting me means danger too."
He nodded. "Yes. But I can't have you alone anymore. Not when they have so much to lose by destroying you."
I closed my eyes. Tears threatened again, but I held them back. The fear in me was no longer raw but cold. Sharpened.
Miles stood and walked to the minibar section, pouring two glasses of water. He handed one to me, sat beside me.
"To new allies," he said softly. "To reclaiming what was stolen."
I clinked glass with him. Water tasted like hope.
He glanced at his watch. "I have a few calls to make. Don't move. Don't open the door. Lock everything."
I nodded. The door's remote lock clicked in my head. Secure. Under control. For now.
As he worked, I settled into the couch, head back, eyes half-shut. The suite was my temporary fortress. My world had collapsed, yes. But walls could be rebuilt. Foundations could be reclaimed.
In the silence, I whispered to myself: One day—they'll know I was never gone.