“Nope,” I manage, the word barely audible. My voice feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else. “I’m sure it’s a prank or something. He can’t be. He just . . . can’t.”
Haydn’s brows furrow, regret flickering across his face. “I’m an asshole. I should’ve handled this differently. I was caught off guard. It’s just . . . you were engaged, and you never mentioned it.”
My lips part, but I can barely form the words. “Almost no one knew. And why bring it up?” My voice cracks, my throat tight, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “It didn’t matter anymore.”
His hand slips from my shoulder to cradle my face, his thumb brushing against my temple in a soothing gesture. “I’m sorry for overreacting,” he says, his tone softer now, steady andreassuring. “I should’ve stopped to think how this news would affect you. We’ll figure out what’s going on, okay, baby?”
I nod, but it’s a reflex, not an agreement. My head swims, his words muffled by the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. I clutch the counter tighter, willing myself to breathe, to focus. Slowly, I lift my gaze to the mirror, and the sight that greets me makes my stomach drop.
The woman staring back at me feels almost unrecognizable. Her skin, normally rich with warmth, now appears dull, her features etched with exhaustion. My eyes are wide, haunted, like I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming through the past, only to be thrown into some twisted version of the present.
But it’s not just my reflection that feels alien—it’s the deep ache radiating through my body, relentless and unforgiving. My shoulders throb, my lower back burns, and my legs feel like they’re weighed down by lead. The familiar pain of my fibromyalgia flares, heightened by the stress coursing through me. It’s cruel, invisible. It never truly leaves, and right now with the stress, it’s screaming louder than ever.
Still, none of that compares to the ache lodged deep in my chest. It’s the resurfacing of something I thought I’d buried long ago, clawing its way back with a raw and merciless intensity. My mirror image feels like a stranger, but the pain—both physical and emotional—is all too familiar.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to feel. How to feel,” I whisper, barely able to meet my own gaze. Relief? Terror? Guilt? It’s all there, tangled and raw, impossible to unravel. Beneath it all is a creeping dread, a cold fear spreading through me like frost, ready to consume me whole.
Haydn’s hands settle on my shoulders, his touch firm but careful, grounding me in a way I desperately need. He turns me gently to face him, his eyes searching mine, filled with a concern that makes my throat tighten. “You don’t have to know rightnow,” he says softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “This is huge, Pia. No one expects you to handle it all at once.”
His words seep into me, but my body still feels heavy with the weight of it all. His hands slide down to take mine, his grip gentle yet firm. He squeezes my fingers, his thumb tracing soothing circles over my skin. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice unwavering. “Whatever happens, whatever you need—I’m here.”
My knees threaten to buckle, but he holds me upright. I close my eyes, letting his words settle over me, their steady reassurance calming the plethora of emotions swirling inside me. His hand moves to my back, warm and protective, keeping me together just as I feel like I’m about to fall apart.
“This can’t be happening,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “He’s dead, Haydn. This . . . this has to be some twisted ploy. Someone probably wants me to talk, to sell a story, to dig up something they can exploit for a quick buck.” My throat tightens as I glance at him, fear clawing its way to the surface. “What if this drags you in somehow? What if you end up in the middle of this mess because of me? Maybe I should go back to my apartment. You don’t need this.”
His expression shifts, guilt flickering in his eyes before it hardens with resolve. He grips my hand just a little tighter, his jaw set, though there’s an apologetic softness in his voice when he speaks.
“Pia, I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier. I didn’t stop to think about what this would do to you, and I hate that I added to it. I should’ve been better for you.” His voice drops slightly, filled with protective determination. “But I mean it now—I’m not going anywhere just because you want to protect me. I don’t need you to worry about me, I just need you to let me care for you. That’s why I have an agent, a publicist, a whole team whose job is to deal with vultures like this. Let them handle the noise. You’re what matters to me.”
There’s a fierceness in his tone now, his words sharp with conviction. “Nobody touches what’s mine,” he murmurs. “No one. I’ll defend you against anything or anyone who tries to hurt you.”
My chest tightens, a swirl of helplessness and self-doubt rising to the surface. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “It’s too much. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
Haydn reaches for me, his touch soft as he tilts my chin, guiding my gaze to his. His expression is unwavering, fierce yet tender, and the intensity in his eyes anchors me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“Pia,” he says, his voice low but filled with quiet strength, “you’ve already survived more than most people could even imagine. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than this.”
His voice softens, and his thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he says gently. “We’re a team, partners in everything.”
The conviction in his voice, the certainty in his words, sparks something inside me. It gives me a quiet reassurance that, no matter what happens, I won’t have to face this alone. As I meet his gaze, something unexpected stirs within me. It’s faint but undeniable: belief. Maybe I’m not as alone as I feared.
Gripping Haydn’s hand, I take a shaky breath, holding on to him as tightly as I dare, bracing for what’s to come. And I have no idea if I’ll make it through this intact.
Keane is a ghost, a chapter that closed long ago, I remind myself. I press a hand to my chest, forcing myself to breathe, to steady the trembling in my hands.
But no matter how hard I try, the question lingers, burning through me: what am I supposed to do now?
“Where do I even start?” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m not sure if I want an answer or if I’m just saying it out loud to make sense of it. “What if . . . what if it’s not a prank?”
“Call the hospital,” Haydn says gently. “They never gave me an exact name or number, just said to contact the hospital. I doubt they’d be part of any prank.” He pauses, his expression tightening as he takes a deep breath. “On second thought, I’ll have my people make the call, do some digging. Find out what’s really going on before you get pulled into any of this.”
His offer is thoughtful, protective, but something inside me resists. I draw in a deep breath, an unexpected resolve taking root. I’m not the same person I was after the accident. That version of me faded almost five years ago, along with the pieces of myself I thought were lost forever. But I’ve rebuilt since then, bit by bit, reshaping who I am. I’m not someone who steps aside and lets others take over my life.
Then it comes to me—Pria Decker. My former boss. A woman who’s nothing short of unstoppable when it comes to getting answers. Her connections are vast, her team relentless, and she knows how to cut through confusion like no one else. If there’s anyone who can uncover the truth, it’s her.
I could reach out to Pria, see if she’ll lend her resources—or even hire her team outright. If there’s a way to uncover what’s happening before I have to confront it directly, she’s the person to make it happen.
Chapter Ten
