Chapter 113 The Static Between Us
Mila’s POV
The fluorescent hum of the dorm hallway was the only sound in the building at three in the morning. I was curled up on the linoleum floor of my ensuite bathroom, the only place where the walls didn't feel like they were physically closing in on me. I had a scratchy, thin towel draped over my shoulders, but the chill of late January seemed to originate from inside my own marrow.
My phone was pressed against my ear, the plastic casing the only source of warmth against my cold skin.
"They’re fine, Mila. Seriously. Zoe finally fell asleep after I read The Velveteen Rabbit three times, and Grace is... well, she’s being Grace. She’s currently obsessed with your old sketches and asking when you’re coming home to draw with her," Eliza’s voice was a lifeline, though she sounded just as frayed as I felt.
"Thank God," I whispered, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the cool tiles. "I hate that they’re there, Liz. I know your parents are being amazing, but every time I close my eyes, I feel like I’ve abandoned them. I’m staying in a room with a private bath while they’re sleeping in a guest room because their sister couldn't keep a roof over their heads."
"You haven't abandoned anyone. My parents love having them here, and you know it. Mom and Dad have basically turned the guest room into a fortress of pillows and snacks," Eliza said, though her voice drifted, losing its strength. "But I’m the one who feels like a ghost lately. Gavin and I are... back to the usual. Which is to say, we aren't speaking. Again. I don't know where he is half the time, and honestly, I'm too tired to ask."
I winced. Eliza and Gavin’s relationship was a pendulum that never found a center, swinging violently between a fierce, magnetic passion and a cold, lawyerly distance that left her stranded. "I’m sorry, Liz. I know how much that silence hurts."
"It’s fine. I’m used to the whiplash," she said, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "But I can tell something is eating at you. You’ve been a ghost for four days. You barely look at your phone. Talk to me, Mila. What’s going on?"
I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white. I hadn't told anyone yet. I hadn't even said the words out loud to the empty room. "Something happened... a few nights ago. On the steps of the dorm. Nate came here."
"Nate was at the dorms?" Eliza’s voice sharpened with interest.
"We fought. It was bad, Liz. I told him we were different species. I told him his world breaks people, and that I couldn't be another one of his projects." I swallowed hard, the memory of his face—raw, desperate, and stripped of all that impenetrable Salvatore armor—flashing behind my eyelids. "And then he said it. He told me he loved me."
The silence on the other end of the line was brief, but heavy. "And?"
"And I ran," I confessed, the words tasting like ash. "I ran like the building was on fire. I couldn't breathe. I still can't really breathe. I haven't spoken to him since. No texts, no calls. Just... silence."
"Mila," Eliza said softly, her tone shifting to one of rare, unvarnished sincerity. "It’s not a surprise. To anyone with eyes, it’s been obvious for months. The way he looks at you isn't how a billionaire looks at a 'rounding error.' It’s how a man looks at the only thing keeping him grounded. You’re the only person who doesn't look at him and see a dollar sign or a legacy."
"I don't know if I can do it, Liz," I said, a single, hot tear finally escaping and hitting the floor. "I miss him so much it feels like a physical ache. There’s this emptiness in my chest that won't go away, and I know it’s because he’s not there. But every time I think about saying it back, all I see are the gates. All I see is the check he tried to give me. How can I love someone who can solve every one of my problems with a signature, while I have to fight for every inch of my life?"
"Maybe you stop fighting him and start fighting with him," Eliza suggested. "But you have to decide if the missing him is because you need him, or because you love him. There’s a difference."
I didn't have an answer. The emptiness was vast, a hollow ringing that echoed through my quiet room. I wanted to tell her that I loved the way he looked when he was frustrated, the way he smelled of cedar, the way he made me feel like I wasn't just a girl struggling to survive—but the fear of losing myself in his shadow was still louder.
"I have to go," I whispered, glancing at the clock. "I have a shift in five hours."
"Get some sleep, Mila. We’ll talk tomorr—"
A sharp, digital beep cut her off. I pulled the phone away from my face, squinting at the screen in the dim light of the bathroom.
Incoming Call: \[Unknown Number\]
My heart gave a strange, violent thud against my ribs. It was 3:14 AM. No one called at this hour unless something was dying or already dead. I ignored it, waiting for the screen to go dark, but the vibration in my hand felt insistent—almost frantic.
It rang again. Then again.
A cold prickle of dread crawled up the back of my neck. My instincts, honed by years of living on the edge of a disaster I couldn't name, screamed at me. Something about the cadence of the ring, the silence of the night, and the void Nate had left behind felt connected.
"Mila? You still there?" Eliza’s voice came faintly from the call I hadn't yet disconnected.
"I have to take this," I said, my voice sounding distant, even to my own ears. "A weird number is calling. At three in the morning? Something tells me I have to answer it, Liz. I just... I have a feeling."
"Mila, don't answer it, it’s probably a scam—"
I hung up on her. The unknown number was flashing on the screen again, the white light illuminating the dark bathroom. My thumb hovered over the green icon. My breath caught in my throat, the air in the small room suddenly feeling too thin to breathe. I pressed the button and lifted the phone to my ear, but I didn't say a word.
The line was heavy with static—the distinct, hollow hiss of a long-distance connection or a cheap burner phone. For a long moment, there was nothing but the steady, rhythmic sound of background noise. No crying. No screaming. Just a chilling, calm silence that felt more loaded than any shout.
"Hello?" I finally whispered.
The voice that came through the static was one I hadn't heard in weeks, but it was burned into my soul. It wasn't weak, and it wasn't terrified. It was sharp, demanding, and utterly devoid of the guilt it should have carried.