I imagined the light. The mirror. The way she probably held her breath while she took them. Not because she wanted to. But because she needed something. Attention. Leverage. Survival.
Maybe all three.
But none of it had been meant for me. And that was the final cut. Because she said she’d do anything to earn her place. But what she gave away? She didn’t ask me first.
And now?
She wouldn’t get to ask again.
A photo of her lying on a couch in a T-shirt—myT-shirt. The hem hit mid-thigh. One leg curled. Her head turned just enough to hide her face.
A mirror shot from behind. Jeans pulled halfway down. The faintest curve of her hipbone exposed.
Another.
Her shirt lifted. Ribs bruised. Bra strap slipping off her shoulder.
I’d seen those bruises in person. But not like this. Not through someone else’s lens. They didn’t see what they were looking at.
They framed her in shadow.
I carved her into memory.
No nudity.
Just implication.
Just violation.
Justtheft.
The last one was a screenshot.
Still interested?
Payment cleared. Full gallery on delivery.
I exhaled once. Quiet. Clicked through the phone. Found the backup folder. Downloaded it to a drive. Then deleted the originals. Encrypted the rest. Wiped the device. Set it on the counter.
The fire alarm triggered two minutes later. The phone melted in the sink basin. Smoke curled against the ceiling like it was mourning.
I walked out without speaking to the front desk. Got in the car. Pulled into traffic. Set the drive on the seat beside me.
I didn’t look at it again. Didn’t need to. Because those weren’t just images. They wereevidence.Of what she gave away. Of what someone elsesaw. Of what I hadn’t been there to stop. That was the part I couldn’t let go of. Not that she let someone look.
When I got home, I didn’t go to her room. Didn’t unlock the safe. I placed the drive in the drawer beside her ring. Next to the phone.
This wasn’t a drawer. It was an altar. Not for forgiveness. Not for grief. But for the pieces of her she’d tried to keep fromme. Evidence. Of what she gave away. Of what she still didn’t understand was alreadymine.
Next to everything she’d left behind. Everything she’d kept from me. Everything she didn’t know I alreadyowned.
7
CLOE
I woke to silence.The box room looked the same. Still dim. Still cold. Still too clean for comfort. The blanket had slipped to the floor. My hair stuck to my jaw. My neck ached from sleeping without a pillow I trusted.
I sat up slowly and winced. My ribs pulled tight. My thigh burned. My shoulder ached like it remembered something my brain had tried to forget. I stood anyway. Because he hadn’t told me not to. The apartment was awake. Not loud. Just… aware.
