She leans closer to her phone again. “So, tell me about the Olympics. Have you seen any famous athletes yet?”
I laugh, grateful for the topic change.
“Technically, I’m one of them now, Aunt Keisha.”
Keisha waves that off immediately.
“Well, yeah, obviously. But besides you.”
I explain the people I’ve seen around the Olympic Village, sharing some of the drama I’ve heard, because I know that lights her up. But talking about it feels more like narrating a reality TV soap opera, except somehow, I’m both the commentator andone of the contestants.
Nine o’clock came and went.
I stand by the window of my room, watching the morning light harden over the Milan rooftops. My phone is silent on the bedside table, making the space feel too large and too empty.
Violet is supposed to be here. The punishment is over, and I want to see her.
She’s with Cassie. They’re just running late. The Vertical Forest became interesting to Violet after all.
Nine-fifteen.
The brooding storm inside me begins to stir. It’s not like Violet to ignore my calls. Not when she understands the contract and how things work when she’s given a direct order. Not after what happened.
At nine twenty-eight, I pick up my phone and call. It rings four times before going to voicemail. Her bright, professional voice greets me.“You’ve reached Violet Lockwood. Leave a message.”
I don’t leave a message. I hang up and call again. And again.
Each unanswered ring is like a drop of ice water down my spine. The possessive ache from last night curls into something sharper. Darker.
This isn’t defiance. This is an absence.
By ten, the ice in my spine solidifies, and I’m certain that something is wrong.
I don’t run. But I walk quickly. My shoes are heavy on the polished floor of the hotel corridor.
I’ll check her space, assess, and then I’ll act.
I use my key to get in and notice the room is pristine. The faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, but faint enough that I know she hasn’t been here for a while. No laptop charging or suitcase on the bed. No sign of a morning rush.
Yet, on the floor just inside the door, lies a single sheet of hotel stationery. It was crumpled at some point, as if it had slid into the room from outside.
I bend and pick it up, studying it to try to determine what I’m seeing. The handwriting is harsh, an angry scroll digging deep into the paper.
We’re done waiting.
That is all. Three words. A chill, deeper than anything I’ve felt on the ice, locks around my ribcage. This isn’t from Violet or Cassie.
This is a threat.
My mind races.
Did Aethelgard know she was here?
No, there’s no way. It has to be someone else. Someone with a grudge and stupid enough to throw everything away to get payback for embarrassing him.
Theo.
The piece of shit ex-boyfriend who’d yelled at her in this very room. He was drowning in shame after single-handedly torpedoing his team’s chances at the gold medal. He has a motive, though I doubt he has access. Sliding this note under her door is the only way to get to her.
