Chapter5

The voices were there before i even—like i knew something was off before i turned that damn corner. muffled but sharp, carrying just enough for my skin to crawl. vincent’s office door wasn’t even closed all the way, just this slit of light bleeding out onto that disgusting hallway carpet (why does carpet always look dirtier than it should? whatever, doesn’t matter). i slowed down like an idiot with the coffee in my hand like i had some business there.

“…she’s been through enough.” vincent. his voice was low, but there was this cut in it, like paper sliced too fast.

then dom. short, clipped. “i know she has. but you don’t—”

and then—my name. like a stone dropping. izzy.

Froze. just... locked. and then a chair scraped and my stomach went ice.

vincent again. “you think i don’t notice? the way she looks at you?” and it sounded—accusing? warning? both. maybe jealous? no, not that. not vincent.

dom stuttered. “i’m not—” and then silence that wasn’t silence, it was like it hit me in the chest.

i swear my pulse was rattling my teeth. i shouldn’t have been there, i kept telling myself, move your damn feet, leave, but i didn’t. my fingers dug so hard into that mug it should’ve cracked.

vincent quieter now. “i just don’t want her getting hurt again.”

and dom, hard, each word like it was scraped raw. “she’s your daughter, vince. i’d never…” and then a pause too long, too loaded, too dangerous. “it’s not like that.”

i couldn’t stay another second. heat up my neck, my ears, like fire. i backed away, slow, silent, like i was breaking out of some crime scene. ended up in the break room dumping the coffee untouched because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

and then the rest of the day dragged like gum stuck to my shoe. dom wouldn’t look at me—like literally went out of his way not to. barking orders, laughing with the crew, disappearing before i could even invent an excuse to stand near him. like nothing in the trailer ever happened. cold shoulder should’ve helped, should’ve pushed me away, but no—it made me worse. every damn time his voice cut through, i snapped toward it. like an idiot. like a magnet that hates itself.

and i caught him once. he was watching me. bent over the plans on dad’s truck and i felt it, lifted my head, and he was already turning away, gone, pretending it didn’t happen.

i kept chanting to myself—doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, you’re fine, better this way—but then he laughed with one of the new guys, leaning too close, and it hit me like acid in my gut.

and that’s when i saw him.

not dom. not the crew. someone else. across the street. leaning against this black sedan like he was posing for a bad photo shoot of “inconspicuous man being conspicuous.” no helmet, no vest. just watching. no, not watching—aiming. camera in his hands. not a tourist thing, not a family-outing point-and-shoot. a monster lens. pointed at me.

straight at me.

i tried to play it off, looking down at the blueprints like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, but i kept peeking. he adjusted, lifted the camera again, and i swear even without the click i felt it. pinned. insect on glass.

wrong. so wrong.

he wasn’t watching the rebar or the crew or the building. only me.

my grip on the paper nearly tore it. i almost walked across traffic to demand what the hell he thought he was doing, but there was something in his body language—like he knew. like he owned the ground he stood on and i had no chance.

so i looked for dom. he was busy with the foreman, far end of the site. i took a step toward him and like magic the guy noticed. lowered the camera, slid into the car, and vanished into traffic. no backward glance. like he wanted me to know he didn’t care if i saw him.

i reached dom, words tangled, heart racing. “hey,” too casual, too fake.

he didn’t even look at me, just nodded. “busy here, izzy.” kept talking to the foreman.

i stood there like the world’s biggest idiot until i mumbled something dumb about deliveries and walked off.

the rest of the afternoon—fog. nothing stuck except that camera replaying over and over, and dom’s indifference grinding me down. when people started packing up, i hung back. waiting. wanting.

and i got him finally, stepping out of the trailer with his phone, jaw tight. i blurted before I could chicken out: “you avoiding me?”

he flicked his eyes, then away. “just working.”

“that what you call it?”

his sigh, his hand on the back of his neck like he was already tired of me. “look, i don’t think we should—”

“i saw a guy today,” i cut him off. “camera. across the street. taking pictures of me.”

and that stopped him. finally. sharp as a snap. “what kind of guy?”

“tall. dark jacket. long lens. aimed right at me.”

something in his eyes shifted, calculating, dangerous. “did you recognize him?”

“no. but he bolted when i moved toward you.”

dom’s head whipped toward the street like he could rewind time and spot him. “you should’ve told me sooner.”

“i’m telling you now,” i snapped. “maybe if you weren’t so busy pretending i don’t exist—”

“don’t,” he cut, harsh, quick, too sharp.

and then nothing. silence like a wall between us.

“fine,” i threw it at him like it would sting. “forget i mentioned it.”

but i knew he wouldn’t forget. i saw his jaw clench, his hand crushing his phone like he was one text away from unleashing something i didn’t want to know about.

i left with this weight in my chest, this crawling certainty: whatever this game was with dom, it wasn’t just ours anymore. someone else stepped in. and it wasn’t for fun.

and tonight, here, lying in this stupid bed i grew up in, ceiling staring down at me like it knows more than me, all i hear are those voices behind that office door. dom’s silence. vincent’s warning. the fire in dom’s eyes that dies the second someone else looks. and the camera. that camera, watching, framing me like prey.

i tell myself i’ll corner him tomorrow, demand answers, force them out of him.

but there’s this whisper in the back of my head that keeps saying—too late.