By the time Tessa slipped into the house, the city had gone quiet in that eerie way, Manhattan sometimes did before dawn.
It was almost two in the morning, so late it was already early.
The back door creaked softly as she nudged it open, every nerve in her body screaming at the smallest sound.
She paused, heart hammering, listening. Nothing. Just silence. The kind of silence that pressed against her ears and made her skin prickle.
Tessa had left it unlocked.
A small mercy. One of the few she still had.
She stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind her, locking it with trembling fingers. Only then did she lean back against the wood and release a shaky breath. Her chest felt tight, like she hadn't breathed properly in days.
The house was dark, the air cool. Familiar. Safe—at least, it was supposed to be.
She kicked off her shoes and moved slowly, cautiously, as if the shadows themselves might betray her. Every sound felt amplified: the faint hum of the refrigerator, the soft ticking of the wall clock, the distant wail of a siren far away.
She made it to the small guest room without incident and closed the door.
Only then did her shoulders sag.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, her body stiff and wired despite the exhaustion screaming through her veins. Her muscles ached. Her feet throbbed. Her head felt heavy, foggy, as if it were filled with wet cotton.
Sleep should have come easily.
It didn't.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling, eyes burning, mind racing. The faint glow of streetlight slipped through the curtain, casting long shadows that seemed to move when she blinked.
Her breathing slowed.
Then it hit her.
A single tear slid from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hair.
She didn't move.
Another followed.
Then another.
Soon, her chest began to shake.
The tears came harder now, spilling freely as everything she had been holding back finally cracked open. She pressed her lips together, trying to stay quiet, but a broken sound escaped her throat anyway.
She turned onto her side, curling into herself.
She was so tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of hiding.
Tired of living like a fugitive in a city she once loved.
She couldn't even walk freely down the streets of Manhattan anymore. Couldn't step into a café. Couldn't linger in a bookstore. Couldn't laugh without glancing over her shoulder.
All because of a debt that wasn't even hers.
A debt her parents couldn't pay.
A debt that had somehow become her cage.
Her sobs grew sharper, her fingers clutching the sheets as frustration and despair tangled inside her chest. How had her life come to this? How had love turned into leverage? How had promises turned into threats?
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She just wanted it to stop.
The sound of her phone vibrating on the bedside table made her freeze.
Her heart leaped into her throat.
She reached for it slowly, dread curling in her stomach even before she saw the screen. The number wasn't saved—but she knew it anyway.
Her blood ran cold.
Collins.
Her husband-to-be.
The phone buzzed again, insistent.
She stared at it, tears still clinging to her lashes. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Throwing the phone across the room. Pretending she hadn't seen it.
But fear won.
Her thumb hovered, then tapped the screen.
"Hello?" Her voice came out hoarse, fragile.
"Tessa." His voice was calm. Smooth. Almost amused. "You sound tired."
Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Please," she whispered, the word falling from her mouth before she could stop it. "Please, Collins. I'm begging you."
He chuckled softly. "Begging already?"
"You've done enough," she said, her voice breaking. "Please take my face off the streets. Take down the reward. Let me breathe."
There was a pause on the line.
Then, "You know the condition."
Her chest constricted. "No."
"You come to me," he continued, unbothered, "and we get married. Simple."
Her tears returned instantly. "I can't. I won't. You know I don't love you."
Silence stretched between them.
Then his tone shifted cooler now. Sharper. "Love is irrelevant."
She swallowed hard. "You're ruining my life."
A low laugh escaped him. "No, Tessa. I'm saving it."
She shook her head, tears soaking into the pillow. "This isn't saving. This is torture."
"If you think this is torture," he said calmly, "then you should stop running."
"I won't marry you," she whispered.
Another pause.
Then his voice softened in a way that made her skin crawl. "Then have fun."
Her breath hitched.
"Cry if you must," he went on. "Hide wherever you like. But understand something very clearly."
Her heart pounded.
"The only reason you're moving freely right now is because I'm allowing it."
Her grip on the phone loosened.
"When I decide I want you," he said, voice cold and final, "I'll get you. Immediately."
The call ended.
The screen went dark.
Tessa stared at it, frozen.
Her entire body trembled as the weight of his words sank in. She felt exposed. Watched. Trapped.
She wasn't safe.
Not here.
Not anywhere.
She pulled the blanket around herself and sat up, knees drawn to her chest, staring into the darkness. Her mind raced, spiraling with questions she had no answers to.
Where could she go?
Who could she trust?
This was the last friend she had. The last door she felt safe knocking on. She couldn't drag anyone else into this. Couldn't risk another person becoming collateral damage.
She stayed awake as the hours crept by, listening to every sound, jumping at every creak, every distant car horn, every whisper of wind against the window.
Her eyes burned. Her head throbbed.
By the time the sky outside began to lighten, she hadn't slept at all.
And then,
Her phone slipped from her fingers and landed soundlessly on the bed.
Tessa pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. The room felt… strange. Too warm. Too tight. The air thickened around her, pressing in on her lungs.
She swallowed.
The ceiling above her began to blur.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, but it only made the sensation worse. A sudden wave of dizziness rushed through her, sharp and unexpected, stealing her balance even though she was sitting down.
"What's wrong with me…?" she whispered as she placed a hand to her forehead.
Her stomach twisted uneasily,not pain, not hunger, just a strange, rolling discomfort that made her nauseous for a fleeting second before it passed.
She leaned back against the headboard, heart racing now for a different reason, palms damp, head spinning as if the world had tilted off its axis.
It had never happened before.
Not like this.
She stayed there, frozen, afraid to move, afraid that if she stood up, she might fall.