Chapter 29 Chapter 29
Serena's POV
I ate in the kitchen alone. The silence of the house enveloped me in dust—stacked, old, and motionless. The kind of silence that reminded you of how loudly absence could be. Dominic had not returned in two days. No calls. No messages. His number would not ring.
Maybe he needed space to sort out everything going on. I stared at the torn page in front of me—a fragment I’d found near the old vent shaft in the hallway closet. Watermarked. It had Discolored ink and was part of the Obsidian report. It had been one of the first clues, the first sign that this house had ghosts hidden in its walls.
My stomach twisted.
I held the sheet of paper up to the light and watched as the faint print percolated through. Liana had guaranteed discretion. She had made sure Dominic would never find out, until it was completed. All I had to do was bring the documents when the time came and disappear from their lives. But now, that guilt pressed in my stomach like stones.
I hadn't loved him. That was a fact. But we'd lived months of moments. Morning coffees, midnight silences, the depth of his voice when he was half awake, the garden. The laughter, the sex. I'd grown used to his presence as an eye gets used to light in darkness.
I pushed the page into the lining of my suitcase, under the false bottom, with the others.
Then I began to pack.
It was nothing serious. Some clothings, my journal, some loose change and a key card I would need to return. The packing was slow and methodical. As if I were performing a ritual, the final act of a story I was never supposed to be a part of.
After stashing all of it out of the way, I zipped the suitcase shut and stood there for a moment, relishing the finality of the sound.
And then I went for a walk.
One room after another, relieving the memories that came with it. I drifted through the house, tracing the outlines of door frames, the tops of frames where photos were kept, the small broken cup he always left on the brink of the sink. My heart ached with something that felt like nostalgia, but was not mine to keep.
When I got to the back doors, I hesitated for a minute before stepping outside into the garden.
It was a cold but still night. The moon was heavy, hovering. The wind was gentle, rustling the lavender by the stone bench.
This was where he had kissed me for the first time. It had been late spring. The garden bloomed, the stars trying to twinkle through a smoggy sky. He'd leaned in gradually, as if he was hesitant for an invitation and when I didn't move, he kissed me like he wasn't sure it ever would again.
I could still feel it sometimes. The heat. The confidence. The illusion. I was sitting on the bench now, arms crossed over my chest, as the memories washed over me.
But this never was my life. It had always belonged to someone else, someone more free, someone purer. I had simply borrowed it to complete a task. I had simply lived in the moment, knowing in the depths of my stomach that I didn't belong here. That I never would.
I got up eventually and returned inside.
In the hallway, I stopped in front of the mirror.
My face looked strange to me. Eyes too tired, jaw too hard. A woman on the brink of two existences: one behind her falling and one still out of reach.
I looked again at the case beside the stairs.
It held everything. The hidden documents. The letters. The photographs. Evidence of corruption, of secret missions, of Dominic's darkest affiliations.
All Liana needed to destroy him.
My hand trembled as I pulled out my phone—not the burner, and hailed her line.
"Serena?" Her voice rang out immediately she picked the call.
"I'm ready and so are the documents ," I said, flat and strong. "I'll be at the usual place.