WHAT THE VOWS DIDN'T SAY

I came back from work not quite long.

The apartment was quiet again.

Too quiet. And it oddly comforted me.

Marcus had gone out for a late meeting, whatever that meant...and for the first time in days, I could breathe without flinching.

I curled up on the velvet chaise in the corner of the bedroom, clutching a mug of tea I hadn't taken a sip from. The air was still, but my thoughts weren't. They rattled inside me, sharp and restless. I hadn't changed from my office wear. I wanted to relish the comforting silence this cage of a home gave me.

Sebastian's words echoed in the back of my mind like a warning bell I couldn't shut off.

Safe is a luxury.

I meant it when I said that. I just didn't realize how much it would stick.

The phone rang. I was startled.

I got a little bit too comfortable in the silence.

My stomach turned before I even looked. Only one person would use the landline.

I answered anyway. Because some ghosts don't stop calling no matter how much you try to fend them off.

"Hello?"

"Isla, darling." My mother's voice was sugar-dipped poison, warm and brittle in the same breath. "You sound tired."

Here we go again...

I pinched the bridge of my nose and held back the urge to say something that's definitely not polite.

"It's almost midnight." I said as I glanced at the ticking clock on the wall and realizing that I've been sitting and thinking to myself for quite a long time.

"Well, time doesn't matter when you need help," she said, a fluttery laugh following. "I wouldn't call if it wasn't important."

Here it comes...

"How much?" I asked, skipping the act.

A pause. She never called to check if I'm fine or if I need something...it's always when she needs something.

"Don't be like that," she said with a sigh. "It's just a little trouble at the club. A misunderstanding. They froze my account."

"Again?"

"I'll pay you back." she whined.

"You never do." I shot back.

"Isla."

"No, Mom. Not tonight."

I stood, the cold mug forgotten on the table, and began to pace. The walls of this penthouse apartment felt thinner every second she stayed on the line.

"I need real help," I snapped, voice shaking. "Not this. Not more withdrawals from a life I never asked for."

Another pause. Her tone cooled. "You think you're the only one with problems?"

I laughed, bitter, tired. "I'm married to a man who breaks bones when he's bored. You know it but you're doing nothing to help me. I lie to everyone I know. I hide bruises with expensive makeup and make excuses for bloodstains I didn't cause. And you, you want a bailout because you can't keep your hands off a poker table."

"Isla..."

"No. You don't get to guilt me. Not after selling me off to the highest bidder like I was a used car on clearance."

"That's not fair," she hissed. "You have everything. A beautiful home. A wealthy husband..."

"A monster."

Silence.

"Oh now you have nothing to say?"

And then, icily, "You always were dramatic. If you hated it so much, why don't you just leave?"

I froze.

She knew the answer. She knew damn well why.

"You made sure I couldn't," I whispered. "You tied me to him. You forged the debts, Mom. You let Marcus buy them out so I'd be his. You called it a rescue, but it was a sale. I was your way out."

"I did what I had to do," she snapped.

"No," I said, voice cold now. "You did what was easiest."

My hands trembled.

"You ruined me. You and dad and I'll never forgive you for the trauma you two caused me. I'm going to keep reminding u everyday."

She scoffed. "Oh, please. Don't be so dramatic. Everyone sacrifices something. At least you're taken care of."

I nearly dropped the phone.

"Taken care of?" I repeated. "You think being held like a prisoner is being taken care of? You think being hit is love? You think pretending to smile at galas while your husband threatens every man who glances my way is being taken care of?"

There was only silence on the other end.

"I'm done sending money," I said finally, steel in my voice. "Find another daughter."

She scoffed. "You'll regret that, Isla. When the world turns on you,and it will, don't come crawling back."

"I never crawled to you," I said. "You pushed me down and called it raising me. The world is already against me, the worst that could happen at this point is for me to be brutalized to a coma."

And then I hung up.

My hands were shaking. I went to get my coffee, hoping the cold caffeine will help steady my nerves.

The silence that followed was heavier than any scream. I hurled the cup across the room and watched it shatter.

I let myself cry. I cried out loud. Letting out every single pain I felt as my fingers dug into the skin of my laoso. It didn't solve anything. It didn't make me braver. But it was something real in a world where everything else was pretend.

I washed my face. Picked up the broken pieces of the cup, winced as a shard cut through my palm.Brushed my hair. Changed into pajamas that weren't silk, just cotton, just normal.

I wanted to feel normal, even if it was a lie.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, the apartment was still.

Until I saw it. My palm still throbbing in pain, I walked forward.

A single red rose lay on the bed.

My blood ran cold. The pain on my palm felt numb

Marcus didn't give flowers.

Not for birthdays. Not for apologies. Not ever.

But there it was, placed right in the center of the sheets. Perfect. Deliberate.

And tucked beneath its stem... was a photo.

Not just any photo.

It was me,standing outside Hale's office building earlier that morning. My head down. My limp just visible. And Sebastian...

Sebastian was just behind me in the frame, barely visible.

But enough.

Just enough to imply something.

Enough to burn.

On the back, in Marcus's sharp, deliberate handwriting, four words chilled me to the bone:

"Tell me the truth."

The picture dropped from my hand as my heart raced even faster.