Chapter 17:You Should Have Let Go

I was sitting outside on a wooden chair, a cup of coffee warming my hands, I felt peaceful.

I took a slow sip and let my eyes wander over the garden. I had the whole day to myself. It felt like finally remembering how to breathe.

On the other end of the chair, I found a small bag of seeds. I scattered a handful on the ground and watched two birds hop closer to eat. They stayed side by side, so close their wings almost touched.

"Lovebirds," I whispered, and I smiled.

I remembered something my mother used to say: when you accidentally see two creatures close together, eating or even mating, it means your own match is near.

I laughed softly at the thought. Then a hand touched my shoulder.

"Wow, two birds," my mother said, leaning over me. "They must be a male and a female."

I looked back at them. They had moved even closer and were gently rubbing their necks together. My mother smiled knowingly at me, and I shook my head, though my cheeks felt warm.

The peace did not last. The next day, I came straight from work to Steven's house to deliver some documents he had asked for.The front door was open, and the maid stood in the entrance like a statue, her hands clenched tightly in front of her.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Mmm..." She glanced toward the living room, then at the floor. She was clearly frightened and didn't know what to say.

I walked in slowly and stopped. Steven was standing against the wall, his forehead resting on it as though it were the only thing holding him up. Blood ran down his fingers, and the wall beside him bore a dark mark where he had struck it.

"Mr. Steven," I said carefully. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer. My eyes dropped to the floor, where a phone lay face up, its screen still glowing.

I shouldn't have looked. But a picture was staring back at me, and I couldn't turn away. I bent down, picked up the phone, and swiped slowly, each image making my stomach sink further. They were photos of Natasha with the same man I had seen at Steven's house, the one she had called her brother. In picture after picture, they were close in ways no brother and sister should be.

My hand went cold.

When I looked up, Steven had turned. I searched his face for tears, but there were none. There was only a flat, hollow disappointment in his eyes, the kind that was worse than crying.

"Sir," I said softly, "please let me take that away for you."

"I told her I trusted her." His voice was quiet.

He stared at the floor, and I saw something shift in his expression, a slow understanding. "So that was why she kept asking those stupid questions," he murmured to himself.

"I'm so sorry, sir."

I wanted to say something comforting, but nothing felt right. He didn't look heartbroken the way I would have been in his place. He looked like a man who had been struck. I felt a deep pity for him, and my eyes drifted to his bleeding hand.

"Your hand needs to be cleaned," I said. "Please let me help."

I was wrapping a bandage around his knuckles when I heard a car stop outside, followed by the sharp click of heels running toward the house.

"Steven! Steven, please!"

Natasha burst into the living room, her hair disheveled and her designer glasses gone. Her eyes were red, and mascara streaked her cheeks. She threw herself in front of him and grabbed his arm.

"Steven, it's not what you think. Please, just listen to me. I can explain everything."

He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on the wall, as though she were not even there.

"I love you," she cried. "I made a mistake. Please, Steven, please look at me!"

Nothing.

"Steven!"

At last, in a voice so calm it chilled me, he said, "Take her out of my house."

His bodyguard stepped forward from the doorway and took Natasha gently but firmly by the arm. She began to scream, kicking and struggling as he led her out.

At the door, she twisted around, and her eyes found me. For one terrible second, the tears vanished, and what looked back at me was pure hatred.

Then she was gone, and the house fell silent.

I knew that kind of silence. It was the one that follows betrayal, when the heart is still deciding whether to break. I had felt it when Rui betrayed me, but I had pushed it away before it could land. I wished I could tell Steven that it eased with time, but I wasn't sure he would believe me.

That evening, I was driving home from work with Clara on the phone.

"We're meeting my lawyer tomorrow," she said. "Keep the recording safe, Emilia. It's the only proof we have."

"I will."

"And don't say anything to Rui, even if he approaches you. Not a word. I know I can count on you."

"Okay, Clara, Thank you"

I pulled up and got out of the car. I was closing the boot when I noticed a figure standing at the corner, half hidden behind the potted plants near the wall. The streetlight didn't quite reach him, and the dark outline of his clothes blended into the shadows.

My heart skipped. I kept the phone pressed to my ear.

"Clara, I'll call you later," I said quickly. "Someone is close to me, and I should hang up."

I ended the call and shut the car door. The figure stepped forward, and he became clearer. He was a tall man dressed all in black, his face half covered.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to sound bold.

His answer, in a hard, flat voice, sent a chill down my spine.

"I came to take your phone. Give it to me."

I pulled the phone against my chest. "No."

My eyes flicked toward my front door. It was only a few steps away. I should have been inside already. I measured the distance, then looked at the man's broad shoulders and heavy hands. If one of those hands struck me, I wouldn't be able to stand. But I couldn't give him my phone. Everything that proved my innocence was on it.

"Give it to me," he said again, slower this time.

"I said no."

I turned to run for the door, but he moved faster than I expected. His hand shot out and wrenched the phone from my grip. My fingers burned as it tore free.

"Hey!" I screamed.

He was already running.

I didn't think. I kicked off my shoe, hurled it at his back, and chased him "Give me back my phone! Somebody help! Please!"

My shoe struck his shoulder, but it only made him run faster. His figure grew smaller and smaller until he turned a corner and vanished. The street was empty. No cars, no passersby, not a single window opening to see who was screaming.

"Why now?" I whispered.

I stood in the middle of the road, my chest heaving, one foot bare against the cold pavement. My hands were shaking. I looked down at them as if they might still hold the phone.

The recording. The analysis. Every message from Clara and Ethan. Everything I had needed to clear my name had been in that device, and now it was gone.

Behind me, I heard the creak of my front door opening. I turned.

It was Mia, standing on the step in her socks, her phone in her hand.

"Emilia? I heard screaming. What happened?"

"A man took my phone." My voice cracked. "Give me yours. I have to call Clara."

She handed it over at once. I was reaching for the screen when it lit up, and a notification popped up from an unknown number.

" You should have let it go."

My blood ran cold. I read it again, then looked up slowly at the dark street.

Whoever had sent it knew exactly where I was.