Chapter 301

Chapter 301
She sat beside me without asking.

Her presence was sharp. Heavy. Bitter.

“I always knew you were a bad choice, dear,” she said in a gruff, unkind voice.

I didn’t turn.

“I warned Noel about you,” she continued. “There was something in your eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. My son didn’t have that in him.”

Her words washed over me, dull and distant.

“I knew he would lose himself chasing after you. But I never expected him to disappear. And I never expected my stepson to turn up dead.”

She finally stood.

“All because of you,” she said quietly. “You are a dark child. And I hope your heart shatters until there is nothing left.”

She left.

The door closed behind her.

I didn’t react.

What she didn’t know—what she could never know—was that my heart had shattered eleven years ago. Isaiah had only gathered the pieces, held them together with his hands, and then crushed them again when he died.

There was nothing left to destroy.

I don’t remember getting home.

I don’t remember the faces, the voices, the food untouched on tables. I don’t remember my mother crying, or my sister begging me to rest, or the way people looked at me like they were afraid I would disappear too.

I only remember walking into our room.

Our room.

The smell hit me first.

Roses.

Fresh. Soft. Pink.

Petals were scattered across the bed, across the floor, like he had planned something. Like he was supposed to be here.

My breath caught.

My knees gave out.

And then I saw the letter.

Simple.

Familiar handwriting.

Even death will not be able to separate us.

That was when I broke.

Not quietly.

Not gracefully.

I screamed until my chest burned. I cried until my body shook so hard I thought I would tear apart. I clutched the letter to my chest like it was him, like if I held it tight enough, he would come back.

But he didn’t.

And for the first time since the fire, I let myself feel it.

Isaiah was gone.

And I was still here.

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I didn’t even change my clothes.

I grabbed the flowers with shaking hands, the petals already falling apart under my fingers, the letter clutched so tightly it was crumpling. My heart was racing so fast it hurt, pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape my body before my mind could catch up to it.

So many thoughts chased each other in my head, colliding, tangling, refusing to settle.

The thoughts made me dizzy. Sick. Hopeful in a way that terrified me.

I ran.

I didn’t know how I got into the car, didn’t remember the drive, only the way my hands shook on the steering wheel and how I kept whispering his name under my breath like a prayer, like if I said it enough times he would hear me.

The club loomed ahead of me, lights glowing against the dark, loud music leaking out into the night like nothing in the world had stopped. Like people were still dancing, still laughing, still living.

It felt wrong.

I stumbled inside, clutching the flowers to my chest, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. Faces turned. Someone called my name. Someone else reached for me.

Then I saw Fabian.

He was near the bar, dressed in black, shoulders tense, eyes tired in a way I had never seen before. The moment his gaze landed on me, his face changed completely.

“Tamara—”

I didn’t make it to him.

My knees buckled and the world tilted. The last thing I felt was his arms catching me before I hit the floor.

“Jesus,” he muttered, panic sharp in his voice as he held me upright. “Tamara, darling. Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer.

My chest heaved as I struggled for air, breaths tearing out of me in uneven gasps. My whole body shook like I was freezing, even though the club was warm and crowded. My fingers dug into Fabian’s jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, one arm firm around my shoulders, the other steadying my back. “I’ve got you.”

He guided me through the club, shielding me from curious eyes, murmuring apologies to people we brushed past. The noise faded the farther we went, the bass thumping duller, until we reached the hallway that led to Isaiah’s office.

The moment I saw the door, my body reacted before my mind did.

“No,” I breathed, shaking my head violently. My feet stopped moving on their own. “I can’t… I can’t go in there.”

Fabian followed my gaze and understood instantly. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t push me.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, darling. We won’t.”

He turned, led me to another office down the hall. Smaller. Less imposing. A place Isaiah rarely used. I let Fabian guide me inside this one, my steps slow and unsteady like I was learning how to walk again.

He sat me down gently on the couch, crouching in front of me for a moment, his eyes searching my face like he was afraid I’d disappear if he blinked.

“Sit,” he said, then turned and poured me a glass of water from the small bar by the wall. He handed it to me. “Drink this.”

I stared at the glass like it offended me. My hands were still full.

The flowers.
The letter.

“I found something,” I said finally, my voice barely there, thin and cracked like it had been dragged over glass.

Fabian stilled.