Chapter 5: The Girl in the Yearbook

I don’t sleep. I run.  

Down the hall, bare feet silent on cold marble. 

The Kade estate is a mausoleum at 2:15 a.m. 

My pulse is a code in my ears. He’s mine.  

Roman’s door is open. The room smells like antiseptic and night. 

He’s in bed, breathing evenly. Alive. Not sedated. 

Singh made sure of that after Lakeside. The new nurse is downstairs. She swore no one came up.  

She lied.  

I check his hands. Empty. 

Whatever the girl pressed into his palm is gone. 

I lift the blanket. Nothing on the sheets. Nothing on the floor.  

Roman’s eyes open. Not startled. 

He looks at me and it’s like he expected me.  

“You saw her,” he says. His voice is rough from sleep, but certain.  

My stomach drops. “How did you...”  

“I didn’t.” He pushes up on his elbows, wincing. “But you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Who was it?”  

I can’t tell him. Not yet. 

If I say a girl in a Crestview uniform, he’ll spiral trying to remember. 

Dr. Patel said stress causes the V tach.  

“Bad dream,” I lie.  

He studies me. Too sharp for a man with amnesia. 

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t lie to me, Isla. Not after today.”  

After today. After he put himself between me and Julian. 

After he said “She’s my wife.” After he held me on the parallel bars and told me he was going to apologize before the crash.  

He’s right. I owe him the truth. Just not all of it. Not tonight.  

“Security feed glitched,” I say. “Thought I saw someone. It was nothing.”  

His jaw works. He doesn’t believe me. But he lets it go. For now.  

“Sit,” he says, patting the edge of the mattress.  

I should check his vitals. I should call Singh. 

I should do anything but crawl into the space he’s making for me.  

I sit.  

The bed dips. He’s warm. He’s real. 

Ten years ago he spread rumors that I had lice so no one would share a desk with me. 

Now he’s shifting over so I have room, like my comfort matters.  

“What time is it?” he asks.  

“Late.”  

“Stay.”  

It’s not an order. It’s not even a request. It’s a confession. I don’t want to be alone.  

“I’m not a blanket, Kade,” I say, but my voice shakes.  

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. 

“Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been covering for me since I woke up.”  

That hits too close. I stand. “You need rest. I’ll be down the hall.”  

His hand catches my wrist. Gentle. No bruises, unlike his father’s grip ten years ago. 

“Isla.”  

I stop.  

“I remembered something else,” he says. “Not Vegas. Before. High school. You had a locker. Top row. Number 214.”  

Ice slides down my spine. No one knew my locker number. I never told him.  

“How...”  

“I used to wait,” he says. His thumb brushes my pulse. Once. Twice. 

“After the sixth period. You’d get your bio book. You always checked left first. Like you thought someone would jump out.”  

I did. Because someone usually did. Him. Or his friends.  

“You were watching me,” I whisper.  

“I was.” His eyes are dark, full of something that isn’t cruelty. Regret. 

“I told myself it was to make sure you were alone. So I could...” He cuts off, disgusted with himself. “My father said if you had friends, you’d talk. About what you heard in the lab.”  

The weapons testing.  

“So you made sure I didn’t.” My voice is flat.  

“I did.” He lets go of my wrist like I burned him. “I’m sorry.”  

The air goes thin. I knew his father ordered him. 

I didn’t know Roman watched me. Memorized me. Not to hurt me yet. But to keep me isolated. To keep me safe from worse.  

It changes everything. He wasn’t just the bully. He was the guard at my cell.  

“Did it work?” I ask. “Keeping me silent?”  

“You never told,” he says. “Not once. Even when I...” He gestures to himself, to the years between us. “Even when I deserved it.”  

I can’t breathe. Because he’s right. I never told. 

Not the cops. Not a teacher. Not even my dad, because Dad was already scared of Kade Technologies.  

Silence protects abusers. It also protected me. From what, I’m starting to see.  

“I should go,” I say.  

“Please don’t.”  

I sit again. Slower this time.  

He lies back, exhausted. His hand finds mine on the coverlet. 

He doesn’t lace our fingers. He just holds on, like an anchor.  

“Talk to me,” he murmurs. “About anything. So I don’t think about Julian. Or the crash. Or the fact that I can’t remember your birthday.”  

It’s such a normal thing to forget. Such a human thing. My throat closes.  

“March 3,” I say.  

He repeats it. “March 3.” Like he’s locking it down. “What else?”  

So I talk. I tell him about nursing school. About the first code I ran. 

About Maggie and her terrible coffee. I don’t tell him about the girl.  

He listens. Really listens. And when his eyes finally shut, his hand was still around mine.  

I should pull away. I don’t.  

My phone vibrates in my pocket. 

I slip out of Roman’s room and answer in the hall.  

“We tested the syringe from the hospital,” Singh says. No hello. “Potassium chloride. High dose. Meant to stop the heart and look like a cardiac event.” 

Julian.  

“Also,” Singh says. “We ran the photo you got. The one from Crestview. Facial rec hit a match.”  

My grip tightens. “Who?” 

“Ashley Trent. Junior year. Reported missing ten years ago. Week after your Vegas trip.”  

The girl in the uniform. He’s mine.  

“She’s dead, Monroe. They found remains three years ago. Dental match. The case went cold.” 

Dead girls don’t sneak into rooms. 

“So either someone is using her face,” Singh says, “or your security feed was doctored. Either way, Julian isn’t working alone.”  

“Isla?” Singh says. “Are you still there?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Get Roman out of that house. Today. Julian filed an emergency motion. He says you’re unstable. He has a doctor willing to testify that Roman’s V tach was caused by emotional distress from your ‘false marriage.’ The court date is tomorrow.”  

If Julian wins, Roman goes back to Lakeside. Back to DNRs and syringes.  

I hang up and go back to Roman’s room. 

He’s awake, sitting up, holding something.  

A silver necklace. Thin chain. Small charm. A music note.  

It was in his hand. The thing the girl gave him.  

“Where did you get that?” I ask. My voice doesn’t sound like mine.  

He looks confused. “I... I don’t know. I woke up and it was here. I think...” He frowns. “I think it’s yours.”  

Mine.  

I had one. Freshman year. Before Dad died. Before everything. 

I lost it the day Roman’s friends locked me in the band room.  

I step closer. The charm is scratched. 

On the back, in tiny letters: I.M. R.K.  

Isla Monroe plus Roman Kade.  

We never dated. We never exchanged gifts. I never carved our initials into anything.  

Unless...  

“Roman,” I say. “What’s the last thing you remember before the crash? Not the light. Not me. Before that.”  

He concentrates. Pain flickers across his face. 

“I was... I was at the lake. Crestview Lake. At night. And I wasn’t alone.”  

He looks up at me. Lost. Terrified.  

“She was there, Isla. Ashley Trent. And she said you sent her.”