CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Text Message Curiosity

Mary described him with a simple clarity that felt both genuine and unsettling. "He's of medium height, with an athletic build and black hair," she said, her voice a calm river in the storm of my thoughts. A chill crept up my spine, a cold premonition that I desperately wanted to dismiss.

"Wait," I interjected, my head tilting forward, my neck stretching with a frantic hope that I was wrong. "Does he... does he have wide lips?"

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, her words a quiet confirmation that sent a shiver down my spine.

My mind raced, images flashing behind my eyes. "Sunken silver eyes?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

"Yes."

"And he was wearing a pair of grey jeans?"

"Yes."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A gasp escaped my lips, "Oh my God, tell me it isn't Ethan!"

Mary's face, a mirror of my own turmoil, was etched with a worry so profound it was palpable. She stood silent, her gaze a question mark, a silent plea for me to say it wasn't true.

"Ethan," I breathed, the name a bittersweet ache in my chest. “Again?” I recalled the haunted look in his eyes from earlier, the way his shoulders slumped, as if carrying the weight of the world. "How did you get involved with Collins?" I asked myself, wishing I could get an answer at the moment.

A flood of memories washed over me—the gentle way he'd speak to me, even as his hands grew violent against my face, the casual cruelty of his words, the sting of his threats. He was a paradox, a storm, and a calm sea all at once. He was a hoodlum, a man who lived on the edge, yet he was always so gentle with me, even when he wasn't. The thought of him, a gentle brute, in the web of Collins, a man I knew to be a monster, was a terrifying one. Was Collins into... into human trafficking? The thought was too monstrous to comprehend, and I pushed it away, a frantic dam against a tidal wave of fear.

Mary's voice, soft and steady, pulled me back from the brink of my spiralling thoughts. "I'll go and make your meal now, ma'am."

I nodded, my mind still a battlefield of questions and fears. As she turned and walked away, her footsteps a quiet echo in the deafening silence of my mind.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline shot through me again, propelling me back to the bed. My hand, trembling slightly, found my phone and its screen flared to life, illuminating the single, haunting message: “do not marry him, for he is not what he seems.”

I reread the words, each one a hammer blow to my chest. "What does this mean?" I whispered, my gaze locked on the glowing text. A flurry of questions assaulted my mind. Who sent this? How do they know me? And what could be so bad about Collins?

I tapped on the contact, the screen shifting to a blank profile simply labelled 'anonymous'. I tried to call, but the line remained silent, a dead end that made a loud, frustrated sigh escape my lips.

"Okay, okay," I said aloud, holding my palms up in a "calm down" gesture. "Collins... Collins..." The name felt foreign on my tongue. My father had mentioned him only a few months ago, a casual suggestion that had quickly blossomed into an impending engagement. I knew next to nothing about him, a chilling realization that made me smack my forehead with a sharp thwack.

"He's a billionaire... yes," I murmured, walking to the full-length mirror. I needed to see someone, anyone, to talk this through with, and my reflection was all I had. "But what does he do?" I asked my mirrored self, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

A deep, purposeful breath filled my lungs. The scent of old paper and leather-bound books from the shelves around me seemed to mock my cluelessness. "I really need to know," I stated with newfound determination.

The cool metallic back of my phone felt like a stone in my palm. The dial tone rang twice before my father’s familiar voice, flat and uninviting, answered with a brusque, “So, what now?”

A lump formed in my throat, a familiar knot of disappointment. “Dad… there's something bothering me, and I just…” The words caught, choked by his immediate, harsh interruption.

“What is your problem? You just got married yesterday, didn't you! Make use of this opportunity that I gave you and make the best of it, okay!”

The words were a slap, cold and sharp. Then, a soft, muffled sound drifted through the receiver, a woman’s low moan— intimate and unmistakable. A cruel irony that he was so quick to dismiss my mother's death and my distress for his own selfish comfort. The line went dead with a click, leaving a ringing silence that felt heavier than his words. I stared at the lit screen, the coldness spreading from my hand to my chest.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of regret washed over me. I’d called him for comfort, but all I found was an empty well. Instinctively, I dialled my best friend, Sarah.

“Hey baby! What’s up?” Sarah’s voice was a warm, bright contrast to my father’s. I could hear the faint sound of her chewing, a tiny detail that somehow made everything feel a little safer.

“I think I’m in trouble,” I said, the words barely a whisper.

A swallow, a pause. “Wait, trouble as in how?” Confusion laced her voice.

“There’s this message I saw on my phone. It said I shouldn't marry my husband, that he’s not what he seems. I’m scared, Sarah.” My voice trembled.

“Ohhh! That’s not good. So, what clue have you found? Have you called the sender to confirm it?”

“Yes, but it wasn't connected. It's a private number,” I replied, the frustration rising.

“This is gonna be bad… Okay, you know what?” The urgency in her voice was palpable.

“What's that?” Curiosity, a small flicker of hope, sparked in my chest.

“Search for any clues around you. Maybe wardrobes, hidden rooms, cupboards, drawers… anywhere searchable,” she commanded, her voice low and serious.

“Hum… okay, let me do that before he comes back,” I whispered, my head on a swivel, my eyes darting around the room, as if something sinister were listening just beyond my sight. I hung up the phone, the world around me suddenly shrinking. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The scent of rose, lily and orange, the same scents that had filled the air during our wedding now felt stale and suffocating. The silence of the house was a canvas for every creak and rustle. A thrill of fear, sharp and cold, shot through me. What secrets were hidden behind these smooth, white walls? I had to find out.

I put my phone on the bed and began to search the room as Sarah had told me, my eyes scanning for any kind of clue. But all I found were legal texts and business journals—nothing that hinted at a life beyond corporate boardrooms.

After searching, I made sure to return everything to its place. Then, I sat down to rest from the stress, ensuring that every area I had searched was left as clean as new.

Driven by a desperate need for answers, I stepped into the hallway. The house was quiet, the air thick with anticipation. As my fingers brushed against a doorknob, a voice, smooth and all too familiar, cut through the silence.

"What are you doing?"