Page 55 of Played
They're not.
They're a promise. A beginning.
My keys clatter onto the console table, and I'm still smiling. Still buzzing. TheLa Vie en Rosebag swings from my wrist, its pink stripes practically glowing with possibility.
Julian. Tomorrow night. Right here.
Reeves left the house spotless before he and his girlfriend took off for their weekend in Bar Harbor, and he made meswear—swear—I'd leave the kitchen the way I found it. "You're a tornado, Liza. I love you, but you cook like a crime scene." I'd laughed, promised, crossed my heart.
Tomorrow I'll make Julian pasta. Something simple. We'll drink wine on the couch, maybe watch a movie we won't finish because his hands will find their way under my shirt and—
I spot the mail.
A small stack sits neatly on the table. Bills. Junk. And one plain white envelope with my name handwritten across the front.
No return address.
My stomach tightens.
I pick it up slowly, turning it over. The handwriting is precise. Controlled. Almost elegant.
I tear it open.
The paper inside is crisp, folded twice.
I unfold it, and the words hit me like a fist to the chest.
Liza,
You think you can just walk away. That you deserve happiness. Freedom. Love.
You don't.
You're a liar. A user. A little girl playing dress-up in a world that will chew you up and spit you out the moment you stop being pretty enough to distract from how empty you are inside.
You took from me. You twisted everything I gave you—my home, my care, my devotion—and threw it back in my face like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.
But karma doesn't forget, Liza. Karma is patient. And she's coming for you.
You won't see her. You won't hear her. But one day, when you think you're safe, when you think you've finally escaped—she'll find you.
And so will I.
The paper slips from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.
My breath won't come. My chest is too tight, ribs squeezing inward, lungs refusing to expand.
Daniel.
It has to be Daniel.
I stumble backward, my hip catching the edge of the table, and my vision blurs at the edges. The hallway tilts.
He knows where I am.
He knows I'm here.
And he's watching.
