10

REED

Travis’s message came in while I was halfway through signing a stack of contracts. My phone buzzed three times before I finally pushed the papers aside and checked the screen.

CALL ME. URGENT.

I stepped out of the conference room, closing the door softly so the partners wouldn’t hear. “Travis, this better not be another false lead,” I said.

His voice came out quick, almost shaky. “Sir… we found her. For real this time.”

My stomach pulled tight. “How?”

“You remember the ring you said she grabbed before she ran out that night? The one with your initials?” He took a breath. “Someone pawned it three days ago. The shop logged her ID. Her name is Lina Monroe.”

I stopped walking. People brushed past me in the hallway, but all I heard was the pounding in my chest. “Send the address,” I said.

The text arrived before the call even ended. I didn’t bother returning to the meeting. I grabbed my keys, ignored the driver, and headed straight for the garage. The drive took forty minutes, though it felt both too fast and too slow. Every red light reminded me of that night. Every flash of guilt hit like a punch.

By the time I reached the location, the sun was low, washing the street in faded orange. Her shop sat between a laundry place and an empty storefront with broken signage. The windows were dusty, the OPEN sign flickering.

I pushed the door gently. A small bell chimed.

A woman sitting at a table jerked upright. A paintbrush tumbled from her hand and rolled across the floor. “Oh sorry. I didn’t hear anyone come in,” she said.

She wiped her fingers on a cloth and walked toward me. She didn’t look like someone who had lived through hell. Or maybe she did maybe it was the way she held herself, a little too careful, like she was afraid of taking up space.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Her eyes were soft, curious. No recognition. That somehow made everything worse.

“Are you Lina Monroe?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Yes. Did… someone send you?”

“No. I came myself.”

She looked confused, and a little wary.

I reached into my coat and set the ring on the counter. The gold caught the light, and her whole expression changed. Her lips parted. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t touch it.

“I sold that,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said. “I tracked it.”

Her breath stuttered. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it belongs to you,” I said. “And because I’ve been looking for you for three years.”

She swallowed, backing up a step. “I don’t understand.”

I put the ring back in my coat “You might not remember me,” I said carefully. “But you remember the night at the club.”

Her eyes flickered, a flash of old fear then she nodded once, barely visible.

“Why now?” she whispered.

“Because I owe you the truth,” I said. “And I owe you more than that.”

“I thought no one would ever find me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even use a fake name.”

“That made it easier,” I said.

She gave a sad little smile. “I’ve never been good at hiding.”

I pulled a business card from my pocket and placed it beside the ring. “My number. And the number of my assistant.”

She barely glanced at the card. “Is this… compensation?”

“No,” I said. “This is the beginning of me fixing what I broke.”

Her breath hitched again. Tears gathered along her lashes.

“I kept telling myself it wasn’t as bad as it felt,” she said. “That maybe I overreacted. That maybe I misread everything.” She laughed once, a sharp, painful sound. “But I never forgot the fear. I’m still trying to figure out how to exist after what happened.”

I didn’t look away. I owed her that much.

She wiped her cheek abruptly. “So… what now? You say sorry and then disappear?”

“No,” I said. “You’ll never have to worry about your safety or stability again. I’ve already arranged a place for you. The paperwork is ready.”

She frowned. “A place?”

“A home. And funds. Enough to rebuild your life from scratch. You deserve more than struggling in a shop that barely pays rent.”

Her lips pressed together. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” I said. “It’s accountability.”

The guilt burned through me, I said quietly. “And I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking for a chance to repair what I can.”

She stared at the card again. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly as she breathed. “If you’re serious… then I want a job. Any job. I don’t want to depend on pity.”

That startled me more than anything else she’d said.

“You want to work for me?”

“Yes. I don’t want a handout.” She straightened a bit. “If you’re giving me a chance, then let me earn something too. I’m not perfect, but I learn fast. I show up. I don’t quit. If you’re giving me a chance, let me actually prove I deserve it.”

She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t timid. She was standing there, wounded but stubborn.

You’ll start in a week,” I said. “We’ll create a position for you. My assistant will send the documents tomorrow.”

A wave of relief softened her features. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” I told her. “If you need anything, anything realistic… say the word.”

She nodded slowly. “Then… may I keep the ring?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s yours. It always was.”

I handed over the ring and for a moment, neither of us moved.

Then her voice came out barely above a whisper. “I used to think I’d never feel safe again.”

My throat tightened. “You will. That’s my responsibility now.”

I left before the guilt drowned me again. Outside, the sky had turned dusky and cool, but I didn’t move right away. I stood by the car, breathing in air that felt too thin.

Three years of searching. Three years of guilt. Three years of wishing I could undo everything.

I couldn’t erase it.