LET GO OF ME!

SCARLETT

The moment the door shut behind me, the weight in my chest exploded into full-blown panic. My heart thundered wildly as if trying to escape my ribcage. My breath hitched, uneven and broken, and my hands trembled as I clawed at the closet door. My vision was still blurred from tears, but I didn't care what I wore—I just needed to see her. Emily. The name echoed in my skull like a cruel taunt.

Emily—the woman who had once meant everything to Zayden. The woman Vincent called "Mom."

My fingers closed around a soft sweater, and I tugged it on without looking. The fabric clung awkwardly to my damp skin. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye for a second—my cheeks blotchy, eyes swollen, hair tangled and wild. I looked like a ghost of myself. But none of it mattered now. I had to see her. I had to know if what I feared was true.

I burst out of the room, my bare feet padding hard against the hallway tiles. The air felt thick and heavy, and my stomach churned violently. My legs barely kept pace with my racing thoughts as I descended the stairs, missing the last step and stumbling forward.

And then I saw her.

She stood in the center of the living room as if she belonged there—as if she had never left. Her presence commanded attention. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, yet the room seemed to curve around her. Her black hair fell down her back in silky waves, every strand in place. Her lips glowed red, the same color that now stained the inside of my mind. Her dress, sleek and snug, fit her like a second skin, hugging every graceful line of her body. She looked flawless—untouchable.

And me? I felt like a child next to her. Messy. Weak. Insignificant.

Vincent moved toward her with a bright smile that felt like a betrayal. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in with warmth and pride.

"Welcome, Mom," he said, as if she'd never broken his heart. As if she hadn't left him behind.

That word—Mom—stabbed me in the chest. Not because she was his mother, but because she was Zayden’s past. A past he had once loved so deeply.

And Zayden—he stood beside her, too close. Too familiar. His hand brushed against hers, casual and light, but my breath caught in my throat. It was the way he looked at her, the comfort in his stance.

My heart clenched.

Vincent must have said something, because the next thing I knew, he was gently guiding me forward by the hand.

"This is my wife, Scarlett," he introduced. His grip on my hand was tight, maybe protective, maybe nervous. I wasn’t sure anymore.

Emily turned toward me slowly. Her gaze swept over me, a polite smile tugging at her lips. I could feel her judgment, even if her words didn’t show it.

"You’re very pretty," she said smoothly.

I swallowed, forcing my lips into a smile. "Thank you. You look... amazing."

And she did. That was the worst part.

Zayden’s eyes flicked toward me for a brief moment, unreadable, before he stepped between us and said, "Emily, let’s talk in the study."

No hello. No acknowledgment. Nothing.

He just took her arm and led her away, leaving me to stare after them, my heart cracking in slow, painful pieces. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the wave building behind my eyes.

Vincent’s voice broke the silence. "Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange."

I turned to him, my voice small. "Is that really your mom? The woman your dad used to love?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He was crazy about her back then. Always talked about her."

I sat down, my legs giving way under me. The couch cushions did little to cushion the blow inside me.

Vincent sat beside me. "I didn’t grow up with her. She left when I was a baby. I barely knew her. If it wasn’t for Dad, I wouldn’t have even seen her again."

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. Everything inside me was screaming. I felt like I was suffocating.

I stood up abruptly, pretending to head for the kitchen. My fingers trailed along the wall as I walked, steadying myself. But once I turned the corner, I changed direction and crept down the hallway, every step quiet and deliberate.

I stopped in front of the study.

The door was closed. Muffled voices seeped through the wood.

I leaned in, pressing my ear to the door, straining to hear.

Nothing clear. Just low tones. His voice. Her laughter.

Then—footsteps.

The door flung open.

I stumbled back, startled.

Zayden stepped out first. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and stormy. Emily followed a moment later, her smile smug, her lipstick slightly smeared at the corner of her mouth.

But it was the red mark on Zayden’s neck that made my world stop.

My chest heaved. My face went cold, then hot.

I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. His touch felt like fire.

"Scarlett, wait—"

"Let go of me!" I snapped, ripping my arm from his grasp.

But he pulled me into the nearest room—the bathroom—and closed the door behind us. My back hit the wall, and I glared at him with a fury I didn’t know I had.

"It’s not what you think," he said quickly, his voice strained.

I slapped him.

Hard.

The sound was sharp and final. His face whipped to the side, and a red mark bloomed across his cheek.

He blinked at me, stunned, lips slightly parted.

"You have lipstick all over you," I hissed. "Do you think I’m stupid? Don’t lie to me."

"She kissed me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t kiss her back. I pushed her away. I swear to you."

Tears welled up in my eyes. My throat felt tight. "You’re a liar! You told me to marry your son! You promised it would all work out. That I’d be safe. That it was for the best. And now you’re sneaking around with her?"

He reached for me, his eyes pleading.

I backed away. "Don’t touch me!"

"Scarlett, please—"

"No! You are a coward. A disappointment. I hate you. I hate you so much!"

He flinched, as if the words physically hurt him.

"Don’t say that," he whispered, pain flickering in his eyes.

But I didn’t care.

I shoved past him, yanked the door open, and stormed out. I didn’t look back. Not once.

Voices chased me.

None of it reached me.

The air outside the bathroom felt suffocating. The house was a blur as I tore through it, my feet carrying me on pure instinct.

I reached the front door and flung it open.

The evening air hit me like a slap. I welcomed it.

The street outside was eerily still.

And then—

A sound. A low hum that grew louder.

I turned my head.

Headlights. A car. Moving too fast.

My breath caught.

The world slowed. My legs froze.

The car was coming right at me.

Too fast.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

My lips parted for a scream—

And then darkness.

Nothing but black.