🩷TRUST ME, TELL ME🩷

Chapter Seven

I waited until he thought I was asleep.

The fire had burned down to embers, casting the room in shadows that stretched long and sharp across the wooden floor. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, pretending the weight of exhaustion had finally claimed me.

But inside, I was boiling.

That photo had shattered something.

Not just the illusion of safety, but the illusion of ignorance. I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when my face had been photographed by someone who wasn’t supposed to exist. Not when the man who now watched over me like a bodyguard with too much guilt might’ve once been my executioner.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” My voice broke the silence, low but steady.

He looked up sharply. “Celeste…”

“Don’t say my name like that,” I snapped, sitting up fully. “Like you know me. Like you haven’t been lying to me since the moment you opened your eyes in that hospital bed.”

His lips pressed into a line. “You don’t understand...”

“No. I don’t. So make me understand.” I swung my legs off the bed, clutching the towel tighter around me. “Explain to me why there’s a photo of me sleeping; hidden in this place. Explain why your face is my husband’s, but your voice, your touch, your soul… none of it is him. Tell me what the hell is going on. Now.”

He stood slowly. Not threatening, not calm. Just… tired.

“I was given an assignment. Infiltrate. Eliminate. Disappear.” He said the words like they hurt. “Only it wasn’t supposed to get complicated. Jordan was already compromised; paranoid, making noise. They knew he’d told someone something. I was the cleaner.”

Cleaner.

The word sliced through me like ice.

“And you were going to kill me?” My voice shook, but I refused to break. “Was that the plan?”

He looked away, jaw tight. “It was the plan.”

I let that sink in, let the silence wrap around us like a noose.

“But you didn’t.” I rose to my feet, still trembling. “Why?”

He met my eyes then. And for the first time, I saw no walls, just raw truth.

“Because the first time I watched you cry in that hospital room… I knew I couldn’t be the one to end you.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But faith felt like a luxury now, and I had nothing left to bargain with except my heart—and that had already betrayed me once.

“Do you still have orders?” I asked.

His silence told me everything.

I paced, bare feet slapping the cold wood floor. “You still have orders. So I’m just what? A mission you haven’t completed yet?”

“No,” he said, too fast.

“Then what am I?” I whirled on him. “Collateral? Bait? An inconvenient woman you accidentally started feeling sorry for?”

“You’re not collateral,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re the reason I stopped following orders.”

“Bullshit.”

“You think I don’t know what I’ve done?” He took a step forward, voice hard. “I see it every time you flinch. Every time you look at me and wonder who the hell I really am.”

“Do you even know who you are?” I fired back, stepping into his space. “Because this man standing here—he’s not my husband. But he’s not a killer either, is he?”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t push me, Celeste.”

I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Why not? What’ll you do? Snap my neck like the ghost you were supposed to be?”

The air crackled between us, sharp and close.

He grabbed my wrist, not hard, just enough to still me. “I could’ve killed you ten times over. But I didn’t. And I won’t.”

His words vibrated against my skin like a promise and a curse.

Our breathing synced in the silence, harsh and uneven. The space between us, already too tight, suddenly felt electric.

I looked up at him—at this man with my husband’s face and someone else’s soul—and saw the conflict carved into every line of him. Regret. Rage. Something dangerously close to longing.

“You’re not him,” I whispered. “And I don’t want you to be. But I need to know if I can trust the man who replaced him.”

He let go of my wrist slowly, as though every second hurt. “I don’t deserve your trust.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His throat worked. “I don’t know what I am without my orders. But I know that with you… I want to find out.”

The anger softened then, like it had nowhere left to burn. And all that remained was this thread between us—fraying, fragile, but still holding.

“I don’t know what I want from you,” I admitted, voice low. “But I do know I want to survive. And I won’t do it alone.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said. “Even if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” I exhaled. “That would be easier.”

He didn’t kiss me. But the moment teetered so close to it, I could feel the ache of it in my chest.

Instead, he stepped back. “Get dressed. We leave at dawn.”

And just like that, the moment slipped through our fingers unspoken, unfinished, but unforgettable.

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The motel looked like it belonged in a crime documentary.

Chipped paint, flickering neon, a front desk behind bulletproof glass. The kind of place where people didn’t ask questions, and you didn’t leave a real name.

He parked the car at the far end of the lot, angled so the front faced the exit. Always ready to run.

I stayed in the passenger seat for a beat too long, staring at the cracked sign that read Sunset Inn. The irony stung. There was nothing golden about this place. Just the promise of silence.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

No.

But I nodded anyway and stepped out into the heat.

The room was exactly what I expected—stale air, musty carpet, one bed. Of course. He moved through the space like someone trained to scan for threats before unpacking a toothbrush.

I dropped my bag on the chair and stood by the window, peeling back the curtain just enough to see the road. Empty. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“You think they’re close?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”

“And Jordan?”

His mouth pressed into a line. “If he survived the breach, he’s underground. Which means we’re on our own for now.”

I turned from the window, arms crossed. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We lay low. We stay alert. And when the time’s right…” He met my gaze. “We fight back.”

I wanted to laugh. Not because it was funny, but because I was scared. Scared of what I’d become, who I was starting to trust.

“What if I can’t handle this?” I asked quietly.

He took a step closer. Not too close, but close enough. “You already are.”

And for a moment, I believed him.