Chapter 36: The Girl He Dated Before Me

Chapter 36: The Girl He Dated Before Me
Lena paced outside the small townhouse in Queens, her heart drumming in her chest. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the sound of leaves rustling and a distant bark from someone’s restless dog. The woman she was about to meet wasn’t listed on any record, any social media, or even in Ethan’s past addresses. She had disappeared—for good reason.

Ray had tracked her down through an old property lease linked to one of Ethan’s burner accounts. She hadn’t responded to messages from the precinct. But when Lena wrote a note herself—one woman to another—the door opened.

Now, here she stood.

The door creaked and a woman with dark eyes and a long, faint scar along her left jaw opened it. Her eyes held something Lena recognized instantly: wariness. Trauma. Survival.

"You must be Lena," she said, stepping aside.

"And you’re… Eliza?"

She nodded. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I know why you’re here. Come in.”

Inside, the house smelled of cinnamon and something faintly medicinal. The furniture was old but clean, everything neat in that way someone keeps a life they’re still trying to piece together. Eliza offered tea, and Lena accepted. They sat at a wooden kitchen table, the light above humming softly.

"I dated him almost five years ago," Eliza began. “He was charming. God, he was charming. Clean cut. Spoke French. Brought me coffee to work. Left notes in my mailbox."

Lena nodded, the description far too familiar.

"But?" she prompted gently.

Eliza’s jaw twitched. She reached up and touched the faint scar on her face. "He told me I was 'almost perfect.' That's what he said. 'Almost.'"

She leaned back in her chair. Her fingers fidgeted with a bracelet on her wrist. "At first, I laughed. I thought he meant it in that cute, teasing kind of way. But then... it started getting creepy. He would rearrange my bookshelves to how he liked them. Change my perfume without asking—just leave a new bottle on the dresser. I found my shampoo switched out. Even my lipstick shade changed. Always peach. Always soft. Always what he wanted."

Lena swallowed. "Did you ever ask him why?"

Eliza’s laugh was hollow. "Of course. He said it was part of 'helping me evolve.' That I was better when I stopped being myself."

The silence between them grew heavy.

“What happened?” Lena asked.

Eliza set her teacup down. “I tried to leave him.”

The memory visibly darkened her expression. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table.

“He didn't get violent right away. He got... calm. Cold. Like he flipped a switch. I came home one night and all my photos were gone. Just—gone. Replaced with blank frames or, worse, ones of me I hadn’t taken. He’d been following me. Stalking me.”

Her voice trembled now, but her eyes were dry.

"I confronted him. I screamed. Threw his perfume bottle at the wall. That’s when he snapped. Grabbed me, shoved me into the bathroom. Said if I kept ‘breaking things,’ he’d break me."

Lena stared at the scar. Eliza saw her gaze and nodded.

"I was lucky. I managed to elbow him in the ribs, locked myself in the room, and called a friend. We filed a police report... but he vanished. Disappeared like smoke."

"He ghosted you?"

"Worse. He erased me. Socials gone. Friends blocked. My job got weird calls. I had to quit. He knew people who could pull strings. That's why I changed everything—my name, my address, even the scar. I didn’t think anyone would ever come asking about him."

Lena felt her stomach turn. Eliza had been the first draft. The prototype. A test subject for a fantasy Ethan was perfecting. And when she didn’t mold, she became disposable.

"You weren't just one of many," Lena whispered. "You were the first one who got away."

Eliza looked at her with a mix of pain and gratitude. "I hoped I’d be the last, too. But I guess monsters don’t stop until someone cages them."

Lena reached into her bag and pulled out a copy of Ethan’s photos—ones from the basement storage, showing Eliza’s face beside the others.

Eliza blinked at them. Her lips parted. “He… kept me?”

Lena nodded. "In a way. You were part of the pattern. A memory he couldn’t erase."

For a long moment, Eliza was quiet. Then she said softly, “He was never in love. He was in control. I wasn’t a person to him. I was a mirror—one he wanted to polish until it stopped reflecting anything but him.”

Lena’s hands shook slightly. "You're not alone anymore. We have him now. But your story… it helps complete the puzzle."

Eliza touched her scar. "I don’t know if I’m ready to go public. But if it helps, you can share it. Just… don’t use my name."

Lena nodded.

They sat in silence, sipping tea.

As she stood to leave, Lena hesitated at the door.

“If you could say one thing to him now,” she asked, “what would it be?”

Eliza’s gaze hardened.

"You never broke me. I broke free."

Later that night

Lena sat at her desk, the city beyond her window glittering like a thousand unsent messages.

She recorded Eliza’s story into her evidence log. Each piece helped—the emails, the photos, the shrine, the profiler’s notes. And now, the woman who’d once escaped the storm before it swallowed the others.

She felt her heartbeat settle.

This wasn’t just about Ethan anymore.

It was about all of them.

All the women who survived. And all the ones who didn’t.