Scarred, Shot, Still Standing

Tessa’s POV

Silas arrived just as I stepped out of the hospital.

He parked, climbed out of the car, and frowned. “Hospital?” he asked, walking toward me. “Are you sick?”

I handed him the discharge form. “Small surgery,” I said flatly.

His brows pinched tighter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There was a pause in his voice. Hesitation.

I looked him calmly in the eyes. “What difference would it have made if I did?”

“Let’s just go home,” I said, walking toward the car.

I was halfway to the passenger door when it flew open from the inside.

“Tessa!” a voice chirped.

Of course. Amy.

“Sorry,” she said sweetly. “I didn’t know you asked Silas to pick you up from hospital. I thought you guys were heading to lunch, and I haven’t eaten yet, so…”

I didn’t respond. Didn’t have the energy to play along with her carefully crafted innocence.

I just turned and slid into the backseat.

“Tessa, Amy was—”

“That’s fine,” I cut him off. “Let’s just go. I’m tired.”

The walk had already drained me. My legs were shaking a little.

I leaned back and closed my eyes as Silas started driving. Amy, of course, filled the silence with nonstop chatter from the passenger seat.

Then, to my surprise, Silas asked, “How about that French place, Tessa? Amy and I haven’t eaten, and I figured the hospital food probably sucked.”

Wait. He asked me?

That was new.

Usually, when it was the three of us, he only asked Amy. Said it was “being considerate.” Said Amy was “more delicate.”

But now, his eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, just for a second.

And in them—I saw something I hadn’t expected. Worry. Maybe even guilt.

“Whatever you want,” I said, my voice flat.

No amount of Silas’s polite concern could undo what had already been done.

…

The car pulled into a restaurant. Amy practically leapt out, hooking her arm through Silas’s as they headed inside. I followed behind, looking like a stranger tagging along in their world.

At the table, Amy flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Silas, I want the shrimp salad and a slice of cheesecake,” she said, lips puckered into a perfect pout.

I didn’t bother looking up. “Steak’s fine.”

The food came. I took a few bites, but honestly—I’d overestimated my appetite.

Meanwhile, Amy was in full performance mode—feeding herself a shrimp, then offering the next one to Silas. Back and forth. A two-person theater.

“Fire in the kitchen!” a waitress screamed, bolting past our table. “Everyone, evacuate—now!”

Chairs screeched. People scrambled. The restaurant burst into chaos.

Silas stood immediately and grabbed Amy’s hand, pulling her close as they made their way to the door.

The crowd swelled. I was caught in the crush of bodies, shoved back and forth like a ragdoll.

Each jolt sent a fresh wave of pain through my side.

Twice I thought the stitches might’ve torn open again.

But when I finally made it outside, I checked. No blood. Thank gosh.

Also no sign of Silas or Amy. They were gone already.

My phone buzzed. An anonymous number.

“Told you—you can’t compete with me. If it were you and me at gunpoint, who do you think he’d save?”

Then another message came through: “I think you already know the answer. If I were you, I’d have disappeared by now.”

I popped out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the nearest trash bin.

Then I flagged a cab and headed back to the house.

As I expected, they weren’t there.

I started packing. There wasn’t much—clothes, a few essentials. Everything Silas had bought me—jewelry, bags, shoes—I left untouched. I wouldn’t take a single thing that came with his name on it.

As I walked past the safe in Silas’s study, I hesitated—then opened it anyway.

For years, even as Silas’s most loyal assistant and his girlfriend, I was forbidden from entering this room. Which was ironic, considering how much of my work lived inside it.

I grabbed a few contracts, the ones whose signatories had promised to transfer their business to me, and shoved them into my bag.

Why should I leave all the fruits of my hard work to Silas? If anything, I deserved those few contracts—I negotiated every single one on my own.

Before I left—before I walked away from the place I’d called home for almost four years—I stood in the center of the living room and took one last look.

I remembered the day we moved in. The way Silas wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “This is our new start.”

I shook my head until the memory slipped away.

Goodbye, Silas.

May we never see each other again, never speak, cross paths, or even exist in the same memory.

You never treated me like the family you swore to protect. You belittled me, made me small, when I deserved so much more.

So I’m leaving you. And I hope—wherever you end up—you fade from my life just as completely.