Chapter 44 CHAPTER 44

Chapter 44 CHAPTER 44
Vivienne's POV
4 hours Earlier. 

I was lying on my stomach on the bed, chin propped on my hands, watching Emma try on different outfits in front of her mirror.

"This one?" she asked, holding up a blue sweater.

"It's nice."

"You said that about the last three." She tossed it onto the growing pile on her chair. "You're supposed to be helping me decide."

"They all look good," I said honestly. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Ugh, you're useless." But she was smiling.

I smiled back, feeling that warm contentment settle over me again. The kind I'd felt almost constantly for the past few days.

It was still surreal, honestly. Being here. In this house. In this room.

Four days ago, I'd been living in Uncle Martin's apartment, starving and terrified, wondering if I'd survive another week. Now I was lying on a comfortable bed in a room that felt more like home than anywhere had in three years, watching my best friend stress about outfit choices like normal teenagers did.

It felt like a dream.

"You're doing that thing again," Emma said, turning to look at me.

"What thing?"

"That smile. The one where you look like you can't believe this is real." She came over and flopped down on the bed next to me. "You know you don't have to keep being surprised, right? You live here now. This is real."

"I know." I turned onto my side to face her. "It's just... it's still hard to believe sometimes. Your parents have been so nice. Your mom keeps making sure I have everything I need. Your dad keeps asking if I'm comfortable, if I need anything. Mr. Cole brings me tea in the mornings without me even asking. It's..."

"Normal?" Emma supplied. "It's how families are supposed to work, Vivi."

"I know. But I'm not used to it."

Emma's expression softened. "Well, get used to it. Because you're stuck with us now."

My throat got tight. "Thank you. For everything. For fighting for me to stay here. For—"

"Stop thanking me," Emma cut me off gently. "You're my best friend. This is what best friends do."

I nodded, blinking back the emotion that wanted to surface.

The past few days had been overwhelming in the best way. Mrs. Steele had taken me shopping—actual shopping, with a credit card and no budget constraints—to get me clothes and toiletries and things I needed. She'd been patient and kind, never making me feel like a charity case even though that's obviously what I was.

Mr. Steele had sat down with me and explained the legal process, what CPS would be doing, what to expect from court proceedings. He'd been clear and honest without being scary about it, which I appreciated.

And Emma had been... Emma. Constant support, never leaving me alone unless I asked for space, making sure I ate and slept and felt safe.

Even Rafael had been quietly present. I'd catch him watching me sometimes, like he was making sure I was okay. He didn't hover or smother me with attention, but I always knew he was there if I needed him.

It was more than I'd ever hoped for.

"Okay, serious question," Emma said, breaking into my thoughts. "Are you happy here? Like actually happy?"

"Yes," I said immediately. "More than I've been in years."

"Good." She grinned. "Because Mom's already talking about redecorating this room to make it more 'ours' instead of just mine. She wants to know what colors you like, what posters you want, all that stuff."

My eyes went wide. "She doesn't have to do that—"

"She wants to. Trust me, my mom loves this stuff. Just tell her what you like and let her do her thing."

I thought about that. About having a space that was actually mine. About being able to choose things, to have preferences that mattered.

"I like blue," I said quietly. "Light blue. Like the sky."

"Perfect. I'll tell her." Emma jumped up from the bed. "Okay, I'm going with the green sweater. Final decision."

"Good choice."

She pulled it on, checking herself in the mirror one more time. "Mom wanted me to look nice for dinner tonight. Some family friends are coming over."

"Oh." A spike of anxiety hit me. "Should I... do I need to be there for that?"

"Only if you want to. Mom said you're welcome to join or you can eat in your room if you're not comfortable yet. No pressure."

Relief washed through me. "Maybe I'll eat up here tonight. If that's okay."

"Totally okay." Emma grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "I'll let Mom know."

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Steele poked her head in. "Emma, honey? Can you come help me with something in the kitchen?"

"Sure, Mom." Emma turned to me. "You good?"

"I'm good. Go."

They left together, and suddenly the room was quiet.

I sat up, looking around. The afternoon sun was streaming through the windows, making everything warm and golden. Emma's room—our room now, I guess—was cozy and lived-in. Posters on the walls, books on the shelves, photos everywhere.

I still didn't have any photos to put up. All my stuff from Uncle Martin's apartment was either destroyed or left behind. But maybe that was okay. Maybe I could start fresh. New memories, new photos, new life.

I slid off the bed and went to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines. Emma had everything—classics, contemporary fiction, fantasy, romance.

My hand stopped on a book with a dark cover and silver lettering. "Moon Bound" by someone I'd never heard of.

I pulled it out, reading the back cover. A werewolf romance. The heroine was human, the hero was a wolf shifter, and there was some kind of forbidden love situation happening.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

Werewolves.

A week ago, I would have read this as pure fantasy. Escapism. A fun story about creatures that didn't exist.

Now I knew better.

Now I knew that werewolves were real. That they walked among humans, that they had packs and territories and supernatural abilities.

That Rafael was one of them.

I carried the book back to the bed, settling against the pillows. The first chapter pulled me in immediately—the writing was good, the characters interesting. The heroine reminded me a little of myself, actually. Shy, cautious, thrust into a world she didn't understand.

Though she seemed to handle it better than I had. No crying, no panic attacks. Just immediate acceptance and attraction to the brooding werewolf hero.

I snorted softly. If only it had been that easy for me.

Though, to be fair, I was definitely attracted to Rafael. Had been since before I even knew what he was. There was something about him—the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel safe, the intensity in his eyes when he promised to protect me.

I kept reading, getting lost in the story. The heroine was discovering the werewolf world, learning about mates and bonds and pack dynamics. It was fascinating, especially now that I knew some of it was probably based on truth.

Did werewolves really have fated mates? Was that a real thing or just fiction?

Emma had explained some of it to me, but not everything. And I hadn't wanted to ask too many questions, afraid of seeming nosy or weird.

But I was curious.

About the werewolf world. About Rafael's pack. About what it all meant.

I was so absorbed in the book that I almost didn't hear my phone buzz.

Almost.

But I did hear it, and without thinking, I reached for it on the nightstand.

Unknown number.

My stomach clenched immediately. Unknown numbers never meant anything good.

I almost didn't open it. Almost just deleted it without looking.

But something made me tap the message.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

We have your uncle. If you don't come to the location we send you within the hour, he dies. He owes us money. A lot of money. You're the only family we could find. Come alone or he's dead. Tell anyone and he's dead. We're watching.

I stared at the screen, my hands starting to shake.

This had to be a joke. Some kind of sick prank.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't.

Uncle Martin did owe people money. I'd heard him on the phone sometimes, arguing with people, making promises he couldn't keep. I'd seen the threatening letters that came in the mail, the calls he ignored.

I'd just never thought it would come to this.

Another text came through.

423 Industrial Boulevard. Warehouse 7. One hour. Come alone.

Then another.

Don't test us. We will kill him.

My phone nearly slipped from my shaking hands.

They had Uncle Martin. They were going to kill him if I didn't show up.

My mind was racing, panic clawing up my throat.

I should tell someone. Tell Emma. Tell her parents. Tell Rafael.

But the message had been clear—tell anyone and he dies.

And they said they were watching. How were they watching? Did they have someone here? Were they tracking my phone?

Oh God, what do I do?

Uncle Martin had done horrible things to me. Starved me. Beat me. Stolen from me. Tried to kill me.

He didn't deserve my help.

But did he deserve to die?

My hands were trembling so badly I could barely hold the phone.

He'd given me a place to live. Even if it was awful, even if I'd been miserable, it was still a roof over my head. He was still family—the only blood family I had left.

And these people were going to kill him.

Because of money.

Money that he probably didn't even have anymore because he'd spent it on alcohol or gambling or whatever else he wasted his disability checks on.

I felt sick.

I should tell Emma. I should—

But what if they really were watching? What if they saw me talking to Emma, saw me showing her the messages, and they killed Uncle Martin because of it?

What if this was real and I was his only chance?

My vision was getting blurry. Tears were building, my breathing coming faster.

I couldn't think. Couldn't process.

Uncle Martin was awful. He'd made my life hell for three years.

But he was still human. Still a person.

And I couldn't just let him die, could I?

Even after everything he'd done?

My fingers moved almost on their own, typing out a response.

I'll come. Please don't hurt him.

The reply was immediate.

One hour. Alone. We'll know if you bring anyone.

I stared at the message, my whole body shaking now.

What was I doing?

This was insane. This was dangerous. I should be telling someone, getting help, calling the police.

But the fear was overwhelming. The fear that if I did any of those things, Uncle Martin would die. That it would be my fault.

I couldn't have that on my conscience. I couldn't.

Even if he'd tried to kill me. Even if he was a monster.

I couldn't let someone else murder him.

Another text.

Clock's ticking.

I looked at the time. 4:47 PM.

I had until 5:47 to get to that warehouse.

Industrial Boulevard was on the other side of town. At least a twenty-minute drive, maybe thirty depending on traffic.

I'd have to leave soon.

My mind was spinning. How would I even get there? I didn't have a car. I couldn't ask Emma or her parents without explaining where I was going.

I could call an Uber. Use the emergency credit card Mrs. Steele had given me for things I needed.

This counted as an emergency, right?

God, what was I thinking? This was crazy. This was—

My door opened and I nearly jumped out of my skin, shoving my phone under the pillow.

Emma walked in, smiling. "Hey, Mom wants to know if you want—" She stopped, her smile fading. "Vivi? Are you okay? You look really pale."

"I'm fine," I said too quickly. "Just... the book. It's really intense."

She looked at the book in my lap, then back at my face. "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm sure. I'm fine. What did your mom want?"

Emma studied me for another second, clearly not convinced. But she didn't push. "She wants to know if you want chicken or pasta for dinner tonight. Since you're eating up here."

"Um. Chicken. Chicken's fine."

"Okay." She lingered in the doorway. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I promise. I'm just tired."

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna be downstairs helping with dinner prep. Text me if you need anything."

"I will."

She left, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was gone, I grabbed my phone again, pulling up the messages.

40 minutes.

Oh God.

I had to go. I had to leave right now if I was going to make it in time.

I stood up, my legs shaky, and went to the closet. I needed shoes. A jacket. My phone.

My hands were trembling so badly I could barely tie my shoelaces.

This was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake.

But I couldn't just do nothing.

I pulled out my phone and opened the Uber app, hands shaking as I typed in the address.

423 Industrial Boulevard.

A car would be here in seven minutes.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I grabbed the emergency credit card from my wallet, along with my phone and the jacket Emma had lent me.

One more look around the room. At the bed where I'd felt safe for the first time in years. At the bookshelf full of stories. At the photos of Emma and her family smiling and happy.

I might not see this room again.

The thought hit me like a physical blow, and tears started streaming down my face.

But I couldn't stay. Couldn't risk it.

Uncle Martin was awful, but he didn't deserve to die.

And I was the only one who could save him.

I wiped my face, took a shaky breath, and opened the door.

The hallway was empty. I could hear voices from downstairs—Emma and her mom talking in the kitchen.

I moved quickly, quietly, down the hall toward the stairs.

Every step felt wrong. Every instinct was screaming at me to turn around, to tell someone, to get help.

But the texts kept playing in my head.

Come alone or he dies.

We're watching.

I made it to the front door without anyone seeing me.

My phone buzzed.

Driver arriving in 2 minutes.

This was it.

I slipped outside, closing the door as quietly as I could behind me.

The afternoon sun was still bright, the neighborhood peaceful and quiet.

A black sedan pulled up at the end of the driveway.

My Uber.

I walked toward it, my whole body shaking, tears still streaming down my face.

I was making a huge mistake.

But I didn't know what else to do.

I got in the car, gave the driver a shaky smile, and whispered the address.

As we pulled away, I looked back at the Steele house one more time.

I'm sorry, I thought. I'm so sorry.

And then we turned the corner, and the house disappeared from view.