Chapter 5
Ophelia
“Chasing Cars-Snow Patrol”
The note ruins me. Not instantly.
At first, I just stand here staring at the familiar handwriting while my brain desperately tries to make sense of something impossible.
My fingers tremble so violently the paper shakes between them.
I’ve missed you, Firefly. Did you miss me?
No. No, no.
This has to be a joke.
A sick prank.
Maybe Brayden is trying to torment me again, or I’m finally losing my mind after carrying this grief around for three years like chains wrapped around my throat.
Hayden is dead. He has to be. I watched them lower the casket into the ground because my father refused to let me attend the wake. I cried myself unconscious for weeks afterward. I nearly died trying to follow him.
Dead people don’t leave notes on pillows!
My chest tightens painfully as I search my room again.
Closet. Bathroom. Balcony. Under the bed. Nothing. No broken locks, no footprints, no sign anyone was ever here—except the note.
I clutch it against my chest and sink slowly onto the edge of my bed. “Hayden…” I whisper.
The room feels too quiet suddenly. Like the walls are watching me unravel.
It’s bad enough I barely sleep at night.
Every creak of the house makes me sit upright.
Every shadow outside my window sends my pulse skyrocketing.
Half of me is terrified. The other half…
the other half wants it to be him so badly, but as I climb into my bed and close my eyes, I can’t help wishing that he would climb through that window and hold me while I cry from all the memories that haunt me each and every night.
By morning, exhaustion drags beneath my skin like wet cement, but I take the note and tuck it inside my nightstand before heading to my first day of senior year.
Brimstone High school looks exactly the same as always.
A massive brick building covered in ivy with wealth dripping from every polished hallway. Students laugh around me while pretending their lives aren’t built on corruption and blood money.
I feel disconnected from all of it. Like a ghost walking through someone else’s life. This isn’t me. This is not who I want to be.
I lost myself three years ago and still haven’t found my way… at least not within these walls.
At night, when I’m with B and the crew, that’s when I feel normal… or as normal as one can get.
I turn the dial on my locker and take a deep breath as Brayden comes to my side, kissing my cheek, making me roll my eyes.
“Baby,” he says as my skin crawls.
He leans against the locker beside me looking perfectly manicured. Blond hair styled flawlessly. Expensive watch gleaming beneath fluorescent lights. That arrogant smile permanently glued to his face.
I just want to vomit.
Everyone thinks Brayden Augustine is charming.
Nobody sees the ugliness underneath.
He grips my waist possessively and kisses my cheek again, making me stiffen. “You ignored my texts,” he states.
“I was sleeping,” I say, and his grip tightens.
“Liar,” he accuses. “You’re always in one of your moods,” he adds, and I force a fake smile, because that’s what I’ve trained myself to do.
Smile. Nod. Survive.
Then my world stops.
At the far end of the hallway, near the stairwell… a boy stands there wearing all black.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Long dirty blond hair but the eyes…
My breath catches.
Hayden.
The books slip from my hands and slam against the floor. Students glance over in annoyance but I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
It’s him. It has to be him.
He’s staring right at me.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “Hayden…” I whisper.
“What?” Brayden frowns, and I shove away from him and start moving through the crowded hallway.
“Effie?” Brayden calls after me, but I ignore him completely.
The closer I get, the more my chest tightens.
Tears blur my vision, but then someone walks between us and… he’s gone.
I stop short near the stairwell, looking around frantically.
Nothing. No black clothes. No long hair. No Hayden. Just students staring at me like I’m crazy.
“Miss Fitzgerald,” Miss Laken calls out. “Are you alright?” she asks.
No. I’m not alright. I haven’t been in three years.
“Uh, yes, ma’am,” I say, and she folds her arms across her chest.
“Well, get to class dear,” she says, and I nod.
“Yes, Miss Laken,” I answer, then walk back down the hall, and Brayden shoves my books into my chest.
“I don’t know what is up with you lately, but you need to get a grip,” he whisper-shouts then walks away.
Fuck him, and fuck this goddamn school.
The rest of the day drags and I think I’m paranoid because I’ve gotten the feeling all goddamn day like someone is following me and eyes are beaming into the back of my skull. Every time I turn around, I expect to see him standing there but he never is.
By the time I get home, my nerves are shredded raw.
I practically run upstairs toward my bedroom, terrified and desperate all at once.
The second I open the door, my stomach drops.
Another note sits neatly on my pillow.
Fresh tears burn my eyes immediately.
With shaking hands, I pick it up.
“You still look at me like I hung the moon, Firefly.”
A sob escapes me because nobody knew that.
Nobody.
Hayden used to tease me constantly because he’d catch me staring at him like he was something holy.
My knees give out and I collapse onto the bed clutching the note to my chest while grief tears through me all over again.
“Please stop,” I cry into the empty room. “Please don’t do this to me.” But no answer comes.
Only silence. And somehow… that silence feels alive.
Thursday night bleeds into Friday like a bruise I can’t stop pressing on.
I barely sleep after finding that note on my pillow.
Those six words haunt me all night long.
Because dead boys don’t sneak into bedrooms. Dead boys don’t smell like leather and smoke…
and memories I’ve spent three years trying to bury alive.
And they definitely don’t still own every shattered piece of my heart.
But Hayden does. I know he does.
By morning, I’m exhausted.
My thoughts are tangled and messy—impossible to silence. Every hallway at school feels wrong, and every dark corner makes my pulse jump stupidly fast hoping I’ll see green eyes and a crooked smirk waiting for me. But he never appears… and somehow that hurts worse.
By the time Friday evening arrives, anxiety sits heavy beneath my skin like a storm waiting to split open.
Which means dinner with the founding families.
My personal version of hell.
The Augustine Estate glows with wealth and power beneath massive crystal chandeliers. Women dripping in diamonds laugh softly over wine while men discuss politics, money, and control like they own the world. Maybe they do.
I sit beside Brayden, trying not to disappear into myself completely. His hand rests possessively on my thigh beneath the table.
I hate it. I hate him.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he whispers against my ear.
“I’m just tired,” I whisper back.
“You’re always tired,” he grunts.
Maybe because pretending to love you exhausts me.
I swallow the words. Not wanting to fight with him in front of all these people.
Across the table, my father watches me carefully. Always watching and calculating.
Dinner drags on endlessly until Brayden suddenly smirks beside me.
“Oh,” he says causally, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I almost forgot.”
His demeanor makes me instantly tense.
“I’m fighting at The Dungeon tomorrow night,” he states as several men at the table grin approvingly.
Of course they do.
They know all about the Dungeon.
Rich men love violence as long as they aren’t the ones bleeding.
He squeezes my thigh harder, making me wince, but I bite my lip. “And Ophelia will be there supporting me,” he finishes, and I freeze.
“The Dungeon?” I repeat quietly.
“Yeah, is there a problem?” he asks with a raised brow.
“I’m not going,” I say too quickly, and his smile falters along with the entire table going silent. Brayden stares at me in disbelief.
“What?” he says, and I take a deep breath.
“I said I’m not going. It’s really not my scene,” I lie, and his grip tightens painfully.
“You’re my future wife. You go where I tell you to go,” he grits, and I turn to him.
“I don’t care.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Brayden's expression darkens instantly.
“You ungrateful little bitch,” he mutters beneath his breath.
Humiliation burns through me as several people pretend not to hear him. “I’m serious, Effie. You will be there.”
“No,” I say, only this time my words come out stronger and, for a second, I almost feel proud of myself.
Then he leans closer, smiling cruelly.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a frigid fucking tease, people would actually enjoy being around you,” he spits, and my throat tightens as I shove back from the table before the tears can fall.
“Excuse me,” I say, and thankfully no one stops me. Not Brayden or my father. No one.
I leave the estate trembling so hard I can barely breathe.
The cold night air hits my skin as tears finally spill down my cheeks. I don’t call for a driver. I just walk.
Past the glowing mansion. Past the perfectly trimmed hedges. Past the life everyone keeps trying to force down my throat.
The further I get from the estate, the harder I cry.
Then I hear it.
A motorcycle engine rumbling somewhere behind me in the distance.
Deep and familiar.
My heart stutters in my chest as I slowly turn my head.
Headlights glow at the far end of the street.
Watching me through the gates as I walk.
My throat tightens the longer I stare, but the rider never moves closer. Just sits there idling in the darkness.
Waiting.
I can’t make out the face beneath the helmet. He’s too far away, but every nerve ending in my body screams the same thing.
Hayden.
Fear and hope collide inside me.
Then the bike slowly turns and disappears into the night. Leaving me standing here, shaking.
By the time I get home, I’m emotionally wrecked, and somehow… I already know.
The moment I step into my bedroom, my eyes land on another note waiting on my bed. This time my hands shake so badly I almost can’t open it.
You cried for me once, Firefly. Would you cry for me again?
A broken sound leaves my throat, but I crawl into bed, clutching the note against my chest like I’ve done the last two times.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under and, once again, I dream of him.
We’re fifteen laying in the bed of some beat up truck he stole near the river. Music plays softly from the radio while the warm summer air wraps around us. I curl against his chest, wearing his hoodie, while he traces shapes against my bare thigh.
“You know what I think?” he murmurs sleepily.
“What?”
“I think if we ever have a daughter or even a son, they’ll have your attitude and my bad decisions,” he says, and I laugh.
“That sounds terrifying,” I say, but he cups my face.
“They’ll be perfect. Just like you,” he whispers, then presses his lips against mine. He pulls away as the stars reflect in his green eyes when he looks down at me. God those eyes. I will drown in them willingly. “I love you, Firefly,” he whispers. “Even when we’re old and ugly.”
“You’ll always be ugly.” I smirk, and he gasps dramatically.
“That’s rude as hell.”
I giggle while he suddenly rolls on top of me, caging me beneath him in the truck bed.
“Take it back.”
“Never,” I whisper, and his smile softens. The kind of smile Hayden only ever gave me.
“You know you’re it for me right?” he whispers. “There’s never gonna be anyone after you,” he says, and my chest aches even inside the dream.
“Promise?” I say as he presses his forehead against mine.
“I love you always,” he says, and just before I wake up crying… I swear I can still feel his heartbeat against mine.