Page 25 of Hellebore

Doctor shows always drag me back to my old life, to the future I was supposed to have before everything changed. Before I changed. I honestly do not know if I ever truly wanted it or if it was simply expected. My father is an engineer. My mother was a pediatric doctor. So surgeon it was. I promised her on her funeral day that I would carry her legacy.

My mind drifts back to that day. It was sunny and beautiful. The only dark thing was the⁠—

Wait.

I grab my phone and open the cloud. I still have the pictures of the funeral arrangements with her photo in the middle. Maybe it is morbid, but at the time they brought me a strange kind of peace.

“Oh no.” I breathe as I zoom in on the left side of one photo.

A bouquet of black hellebores.

No. It is a coincidence. It has been five years.

Maybe it is my father playing his little mind games with me. God knows he loves them.

I take another bite of the donut, trying to calm the panic rising in my chest. This is just some creep. Probably a neighbor trying to be funny. A coincidence. That is all.

But my hands keep shaking.

Shit. I am going to lose my mind.

I stand up and start pacing the living room, doing the breathing exercises Lucille taught me.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to ten.

Then my phone pings.

Private number: You are safe now, my love. I will protect you from everyone.

Oh no⁠—

Chapter Nine

DRYSTAN

Iwatch her expression shift as she reads my text, and the corner of my mouth curls slowly. My beautiful blue-eyed girl still does not know how deeply she is loved, but she will. Soon.

I keep my eyes fixed on the phone screen, studying the way she paces the living room with the phone clutched tight in her hand. She is wondering who sent it. Good. I want the question to settle deep under her skin, to take root there and bloom in the quiet moments.

I saw how she spiraled at the thought that the blond prick had touched her while she was unconscious. I already had his phone. I used it to message his family and friends that he was moving countries and in some deep shit. Then I texted her myself, just to set her mind at ease that he had not touched her. Only I had.

My other phone vibrates on the passenger seat. Only one person has this number.

I pick it up and answer, voice flat. “What do you want?”

“Is that the way to answer your father?” His raspy voice slithers through the line. I close my eyes and draw in a slow breath, forcing the sudden spike of rage back down where it belongs.

“Father,” I say coldly. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to know how everything is going. I have not heard from you since you were let out.”

I release the breath through my teeth, gripping the phone so tightly the casing creaks. “I am fine.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

“I have not heard from⁠—”

“You will not,” I cut him off, voice low and controlled. “And do not ever send anyone else. Ever again.”