Chapter Fifty Four

Chris stepped through the front door, and a faint creak came from the staircase. He snapped his head up. Light footsteps descended—measured, deliberate. Then, she appeared.

Isa…

His throat tightened. Sweat dampened his forehead, and his grip on the suitcase hardened as his gaze fixed on her. He had thought she should have left by now. It was so late already.

She walked down the stairs slowly, both hands gripping her handbag. Their eyes met for a fleeting second before she looked away. Her face was unreadable, though the rims of her eyes red, brimming with tears, her cheeks swollen. The memory of her quivering lips—the pain she tried to hide—sliced through him.

She walked past him without a word. No glance. No hesitation. Silence wrapped around them like a noose. His body screamed to reach for her, to stop her, to make her listen. But his feet—like his heart—remained frozen. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to beg her to stay, to tell her he was sorry. To tell her he hadn’t meant everything she had thought.

But he did nothing. His mind screamed, yet his lips stayed shut.

The door creaked open. A soft thud followed as it closed behind her. Final. Absolute. Her perfume lingered in the air—sharp, haunting.

Tears slid down his cheeks. He reached a hand toward the door but let it fall uselessly to his side. He had let her go. Just like he had let everyone go. The image of her peaceful, sleeping face that morning flashed back to him, and he rubbed his face.

His feet dragged toward the stairs, vision blurred. The weight in his chest pressed harder. He gripped the banister for support, legs weak, body trembling. He clenched his teeth, trying to hold back the sob clawing at his throat. But the pain—this unbearable, gnawing pain—would not let him breathe.

Reaching his studio, he threw his suitcase to the floor. The loud bang shattered the silence, but it did nothing to ease the hollowness inside him.

What should I do?

His gaze drifted to the forbidden shelf—the one he had vowed never to touch. His breath shuddered as he staggered toward it. He fell to his knees, pressing his hands against the wood. His fingers trembled as he pried it open.

Dust billowed out, coating his face. The scent of old paper and forgotten memories filled his lungs. Inside lay Stacy’s belongings—her favorite novels, the scarf she always wore, the painting he had made for her.

His vision blurred. A burning house flickered in his mind. Stacy’s screams. His desperation. The flames swallowing her whole. His hand hovered over Stacy’s scarf, trembling. Something sharp pressed against his palm. He looked down. A folded slip of paper peeked from between the books.

Chris stilled.

He pulled it out, breath shallow. For years, he had buried everything about her, tried to erase her from his mind. But now, this tiny piece of her remained—a part of her he had left behind.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded the paper.

Chris blinked. The ink blurred before his eyes. And then, he read it. Once. Twice. His breath faltered.

Your last warning. Divorce Chris or you die.

His heart slammed against his ribs. His hands shook as he grabbed the fallen notes, flipping through them one by one.

I burned Chris’ parents and uncle alive. Do you want to die like them?

Anyone who gets close to Chris dies. Stacy, stay away from him.

Chris’ breathing turned ragged. His fingers dug into the paper. His blood boiled.

“Chris is cursed, Felix. The prophetess said so,” he recalled his uncle’s wife yelling.

Chris’ entire body burned at the memory.Who is she?

She killed my parents, my uncle’s daughter… and Stacy.

Chris’s fists shook, knuckles whitening as his teeth ground in fury.

Why?The words rattled in his skull, merciless. And then—Isa’s voice. Her confession.

“I thought you were dead,” Isa had told him. “At first, when I saw you, I hoped it was you. But then I heard you were gone, and I hated myself for not saying what I should’ve said when I had the chance.”

Chris’ brows shot upward.Isa!

His stomach twisted. He grunted as his head throbbed painfully. Then he lunged for his suitcase, fumbling for his phone. His fingers trembled as he dialed her number.

The call rang. And rang. No answer.

His pulse thundered in his ears—fast, wild. The air, thick and suffocating, refused to let him breathe.

Stacy’s smile flashed before his eyes. She had received these notes. Why hadn’t she told him? Had she hidden the truth beneath her soft smiles? Had she died knowing she was next? His parents’ burning car. His uncle’s daughter’s charred remains.

Fire. Screams. Stacy’s voice swallowed by the flames. And now—Isa.

Chris staggered back, biting down on his fist. The ringing continued, each second hammering his fear deeper. She wasn’t answering.

Panic surged through him. He bolted from the studio, taking the stairs two at a time. He had failed to protect the people he loved before.

Not this time.

Thanks for reading. I would so much appreciate your comment or reaction on this chapter.