Stella March - POV
The cliffs are freezing at 7:23 AM.
Wind cuts through my jacket like it's nothing. I stand where the rocks drop away to the ocean. Forty feet down. Maybe fifty. The water looks black this morning. I take photos with shaking hands. Three of them. Make sure the timestamp shows.
7:23. 7:24. 7:25.
Text them to Ethan: Sorry. Was walking. Lost track of time. Coming home now.
His reply comes fast. Okay. Drive safe.
That's all. No anger. No interrogation. Somehow worse than yelling.
I sit on a boulder because standing takes too much effort. The ocean crashes below and it sounds like white noise. Static. I should find it calming. Instead all I can think is that in six days I'll be down there. In that black water. Unable to breathe.
My phone rings at 8:47.
Unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost.
"Hello?"
"Is this Dr. Stella March?" Woman's voice. Professional. Careful.
"Yes."
"This is Jennifer from Dr. Patricia Reeves' office. I'm calling because we have a situation and I need your guidance on how to handle it."
My stomach drops. "What kind of situation?"
"Someone called asking to verify your appointment history with Dr. Reeves. An Ethan Cross. Says he's your fiancé." She pauses. "Our privacy policy requires patient consent before we share any information about treatment. But I wanted to check with you first before I tell him anything. Are you actually Dr. Reeves' patient?"
Oh god. She's asking because she doesn't know. Because I've never been there.
"I am." The lie comes out automatically. "I've been seeing Dr. Reeves for six weeks. Twice weekly sessions."
"Okay. And do you give consent for me to confirm that with Mr. Cross?"
"No. I. Wait." Think. My brain is moving through mud. "What exactly did he ask for?"
"He wants confirmation that you're a patient. He also wants to speak with Dr. Reeves about supporting you better through therapy. But honestly, Dr. March?" Her voice drops. Gets quieter. "Something about this feels off to me. Partners don't usually call therapist offices without their partner knowing. That's. That can be a red flag."
Relief hits so hard I almost laugh. She's on my side. She thinks Ethan is the problem.
"You're right," I say. My voice cracks. Real emotion bleeding through. "He's been. He doesn't know how bad the panic attacks have been. I told him I was in therapy but I didn't give him details and now he's checking up on me. Calling to verify my story. Like he doesn't trust me."
"That must be very difficult."
"I just. Can you tell him you can't confirm I'm a patient without my written consent? That's true right? You need permission?"
Silence. She's thinking.
"Technically yes. HIPAA requires written authorization to release any information. Even confirmation of patient status."
"So you can tell him that. That the privacy policy prevents you from sharing anything. Without lying."
More silence. Longer this time.
"I can do that," Jennifer says slowly. "But Dr. March, if you're in a relationship where your partner calls your therapist without your knowledge, that's something worth discussing in session. That kind of behavior. It's concerning."
"I know. I will. Thank you." I'm talking too fast. "Thank you so much."
"Of course. I'll let Mr. Cross know we need written authorization. Take care of yourself."
She hangs up.
I sit staring at the ocean. Hands numb. That worked. She believed me. She's going to protect me.
For how long though?
My phone rings again. Carter.
"Tell me," he says.
"The receptionist called me first. Asked if I was actually Reeves' patient. I said yes. She's telling Ethan they need written consent to share information."
"Good. That's good." He doesn't sound convinced. "But Stella, I found something. Dr. Reeves' office closes today for the holidays. Doesn't reopen until January 3rd."
The boulder feels like it's tilting under me. "After New Year's Eve."
"Yeah. So if Ethan tries calling back after today, he gets voicemail. And if you somehow survive past the 31st, he can call January 3rd and find out you were never a patient."
"The lie has an expiration date."
"Six days. Maybe less if the office closes early today."
I close my eyes. Wind stings them anyway. "I need to go home. Face him."
"Be careful. Don't give him anything else."
I drive home in silence. Hands tight on the wheel. When I pull into the driveway at 8:39, Ethan's car is still there. He should be at work. His committee meeting started nine minutes ago.
He's waiting.
I find him in the kitchen. Coffee mug in his hand. Still wearing pajama pants and his old MIT sweatshirt. Just standing by the counter. Looking at nothing.
"Hey." I try to sound normal. "Sorry about this morning."
"I called your therapist."
The words drop like stones.
"What?"
"Dr. Reeves' office." He sets his mug down. Doesn't look at me. "Spoke to the receptionist. Jennifer."
My heart is hammering. "You can't just call my therapist without asking me."
"She said they can't confirm or deny you're a patient without written consent. Privacy policy." Now he looks at me. "Which is interesting. Because if you'd been honest from the beginning, you would have signed a release. You would have told me to call. But you didn't."
"Because therapy is private. It's mine. Having you call and check up on me behind my back feels." I search for the word. "Controlling."
"Controlling." He repeats it like he's testing the taste. "I'm trying to support my fiancée and that's controlling."
"You tracked my phone. You called my therapist without permission. What else would you call it?"
"Trying to figure out what the hell is happening!" His voice rises sharp. Angry. "You've been lying for weeks. Disappearing. Acting like someone I don't even know. And when I try to understand, you hide behind privacy policies."
My hands are shaking. I cross my arms to hide it. "I'm not lying."
"Then prove it. Give consent. Let me talk to Dr. Reeves."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I need one thing that's just mine!" The words come out louder than I meant. "One space where I can fall apart without worrying how it affects you or the wedding or anything else. Is that too much to ask?"
He stares at me. Long enough that sweat starts down my spine despite the cold room.
"Fine." His voice goes flat. "Keep your secrets. But understand something, Stella. I'm watching now. Every move. Every person you talk to. Every place you go. And if I find out you've been lying, we're done. The wedding. The engagement. All of it."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's self-preservation. Against someone who's become a stranger."
He walks past me. Our shoulders don't touch but I feel the anger coming off him in waves. His footsteps go upstairs. The bedroom door closes. Not quite a slam.
I stand alone in the kitchen. Can't move. Can't think.
My phone buzzes.
Carter: Did it work?
I can't type. My hands won't cooperate.
Another buzz. Vanessa: Coffee today? Miss you.
Then the Institute: Reminder: Lab safety inspection tomorrow 10 AM.
I sink into a kitchen chair. Put my head in my hands. Six days left. The alibi is holding by threads. Ethan's watching everything I do. And I still need to find proof before I become the fifth body.
My phone rings.
Unknown number again. Jennifer.
"Dr. March, I wanted to let you know something." She sounds uncomfortable. "After I told Mr. Cross about the privacy policy, he asked if he could schedule his own appointment with Dr. Reeves. To discuss. He said relationship concerns regarding your therapy."
Cold floods through my chest. "What did you tell him?"
"That Dr. Reeves isn't accepting new patients. And that we're closing today for the holidays. But he asked when we reopen. I had to tell him January 3rd."
"Okay. Thank you for calling."
"Dr. March?" She hesitates. "He also asked if you had an appointment scheduled this week. I couldn't tell him. Privacy policy. But he seemed very determined to find out. I thought you should know."
The line goes dead.
I sit holding the phone. Ethan's not just suspicious anymore. He's hunting. Setting traps. And he has until January 3rd to catch me.
Unless I'm dead before then.