Ring. Ring.
"Hello?"
"Sarah!" I gasp, relief flooding me. "Sarah, it’s Ivy. Oh my God, you have to help me. I’m—"
"Ivy?" Sarah’s voice sounds strange. Distant. "Wow, I didn't think you’d call."
"What? Sarah, listen to me. I’ve been kidnapped. I’m in a penthouse somewhere in the city. A man named Silas Vane—"
"Kidnapped?" Sarah laughs. It’s a brittle, confused sound. "Ivy, stop it. I saw your post. The elopement? The photos are incredible. I mean, I was hurt you didn't invite me, but seeing the ring... girl, I get it. He’s gorgeous."
I freeze. "What post?"
"On Instagram. You posted like, an hour ago. 'Married my soulmate. Going offline for the honeymoon.' It’s all over the department group chat. Everyone is freaking out."
My blood runs cold.
I didn't post anything. I don't even have my phone.
He hacked my accounts. He posted for me. He spun a narrative so tight that even if I scream for help, everyone will just think I’m on a romantic getaway.
"Sarah, that wasn't me," I whisper, panic rising in my chest. "Please, you have to believe me. Call the police. Tell them—"
Click.
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone. I tap the receiver. Nothing.
"Sarah?"
Silence.
The line wasn't cut by her. It was cut from here.
I drop the phone as if it burned me. He’s listening. He’s always listening.
Ding.
The elevator chime makes me jump a foot in the air.
I spin around, backing away toward the fireplace. Is it him? Is he back to punish me for trying to make a call?
The doors slide open.
It’s not Silas.
It’s a young man in a uniform I don't recognize. A courier. He looks terrified, clutching a massive arrangement of flowers.
He steps out hesitantly, looking around the expansive, intimidating room.
"Delivery for Mrs. Vane?" he squeaks.
Mrs. Vane. The name sounds like a curse.
"I..." I clear my throat. "Leave it. Leave it there."
He sets the vase on the floor near the elevator, nods once, and practically runs back into the lift. The doors close.
