Chapter 98 -
“I hate you,” Nia told the photos. “I hate you for leaving me. I hate you for betraying me. I hate you for dying before I could tell you how much I hate you.”
The tears were coming harder now, soaking into the photos, making the images blur and run. Nia did not try to stop them. She just let herself cry, let herself feel all the complicated mess of emotions that came with losing someone who had hurt you.
She cried for the relationship that had never been real. For the future she had imagined that would never happen. For the version of herself that had believed in love and trust and happy endings.
She cried for Alex too, despite everything. For the man he might have been if he had made different choices. For the life he had thrown away for reasons Nia still did not understand.
But most of all, she cried for herself. For the girl in the photos who had been so happy, so hopeful, so completely unprepared for what was coming. That girl had died the same night Alex left. Had been buried under weeks of captivity and fear and the cruel realization that the world was darker and more complicated than she had ever imagined.
“I am sorry,” Nia whispered again. “I am so sorry I could not protect you.”
She gathered the photos up, shoving them back into the box with shaking hands. But she could not make herself close the lid. Could not seal away these memories, these pieces of her old life, even though looking at them hurt.
So she just sat there on the floor, surrounded by the debris of a dead relationship, crying into her hands while the mansion settled around her and the world outside her window went dark.
The grief came in waves. Sometimes it was for Alex, for the complicated, flawed man who had somehow gotten himself killed. Sometimes it was for herself, for everything she had lost. And sometimes it was for something she could not even name, some abstract sadness for the way life twisted people into shapes they never intended to be.
Eventually, when there were no more tears left, Nia crawled onto the bed. She did not bother changing into pajamas or pulling back the covers. She just curled up on top of the blankets, still clutching one of the photos, and pressed her face into the pillow.
The pillow smelled like the expensive laundry detergent the mansion used. Nothing like her old apartment, nothing like her old life. Just another reminder that she was not home, that she might never be home again.
Nia closed her eyes and let the exhaustion pull her under. Down into darkness where she did not have to think about Alex or Leo or the five days she had left before the Don’s deadline. Down into nothing where grief could not follow.
And as sleep finally claimed her, Nia’s last conscious thought was not about the man who had died or the man who had rejected her.
It was about the girl in the photos. The one with the unguarded smile and the oversized t-shirt and the absolute certainty that love was real and good things happened to people who deserved them.
That girl was dead too.
And Nia was not sure she would ever get her back.
~
Nia woke to the sound of her door opening. Not the gentle click of Rosa’s careful entry or the authoritative swing of Leo’s intrusion, but something in between. Purposeful but not aggressive.
She did not move from where she was curled on top of the blankets, still clutching the photo from last night. Her eyes felt swollen, her throat raw from crying. Every part of her body ached like she had been in a fight.
“I know you are awake,” Micheal’s voice came from somewhere near the door. “Your breathing changed.”
Nia cracked one eye open. Micheal was standing just inside the room, holding a tray that smelled like Rosa’s cooking. He was wearing his usual casual clothes, jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than Nia’s entire wardrobe back home, his hair sticking up in different directions like he had just rolled out of bed.
“Go away,” Nia said. Her voice came out hoarse, damaged.
“No can do,” Micheal said cheerfully. He kicked the door shut behind him with his foot and crossed the room, setting the tray down on the nightstand with a soft clink of dishes. “Rosa sent me with explicit instructions not to leave until you eat something. And I am terrified of Rosa, so here we are.”
“I am not hungry,” Nia said.
“Yeah, well, you have not eaten in three days and you look like a corpse, so we are going to ignore what you want and focus on what you need.” Micheal pulled the chair from the window over to the bedside and sat down, making himself comfortable. “Which is food. And probably water. And maybe some sunlight, but we will work up to that.”
Nia finally sat up, shoving her hair out of her face. The photo fell from her hand onto the blanket. Micheal’s eyes tracked to it, then back to her face.
“Rough night?” he asked, his tone gentler now.
“Leo told me about Alex,” Nia said.
“Yeah,” Micheal said. “I heard. I am sorry, Nia. I know you two had history.”
“History,” Nia repeated. The word tasted bitter. “Is that what we are calling it? History?”
“Would you prefer baggage? Complicated past? That one time you dated a guy who turned out to be involved with a criminal organization and got himself killed?” Micheal’s attempt at humor fell flat. He must have seen it on Nia’s face because he sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sorry. Bad joke. I do that when things are uncomfortable.”
“Everything about this situation is uncomfortable,” Nia said. She picked up the photo, looking at it one more time before setting it face down on the nightstand. “Alex is dead. Someone killed him. And I am still here, still trapped, still waiting for Leo to decide whether I am worth saving.”
“That is not fair,” Micheal said. “Leo is doing everything he can to find Andrea’s killer before the deadline.”
“Is he?” Nia challenged. “Because from where I am sitting, it looks like he is avoiding me. Like he is pretending that night never happened. Like I am just another problem to solve instead of a person.”
Micheal was quiet for a moment. Then he said, carefully, “Leo is complicated.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” Nia said. “Leo is complicated. Leo is broken. Leo is damaged. As if that excuses everything. As if being complicated gives him permission to hurt people.”
“It does not,” Micheal agreed. “But it does explain why he does it.”