Chapter 15 Vespera
fifteen
Vespera
The phone sits on my nightstand like a loaded gun.
Dorian brought it up this morning—actually knocked on my door like a civilized person instead of just barging in—and held it out to me.
"A gesture of good faith," he said. "After yesterday. After the cameras."
I stared at it. My phone. The one they took when they kidnapped me. The one that connects me to the outside world, to help, to escape.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"No catch." But his jaw was tight, like the words cost him something. "You can call whoever you want. Text. Whatever. Just... don't call the police. Please."
The please was what made me take it. That and the dark circles under his eyes that matched mine. The way his hand shook slightly when I grabbed the phone.
He looked like shit. They all do. Good.
That was six hours ago.
I've been staring at the phone ever since.
Eighty-nine missed calls. Two hundred and thirty-four text messages. Fifty-two voicemails.
Dad: 43 calls, 67 texts, 23 voicemails
The most recent text is from this morning: Vespera, please. I'm begging you. Just tell me you're breathing. I can't lose you too.
The "too" guts me. Mom. He's thinking about Mom.
My chest hurts. Actual physical pain that has nothing to do with rejection sickness.
Stephanie: 31 calls, 103 texts, 19 voicemails
The texts start apologetic and get increasingly frantic: I know you hate me but PLEASE respond / Your dad called me crying / I'm calling hospitals / If they have you I'll get help I don't care what it costs / VESPERA PLEASE
And then there's Ben.
Ben: 15 calls, 64 texts, 10 voicemails
The texts start confused: Where are you? I'm at the car like you asked
Then panicked: Vespera it's been 20 minutes, are you okay?
I went back to the theater. No one's seen you
Marcus is asking where you are. The scouts are still here
I'm getting scared. Please answer
Then desperate: It's been two hours. I called the police. I'm sorry if you're mad but I had to
Day 2. Your dad filed a missing person report. He's devastated
Day 3. They found your bag backstage. Your wallet and keys still in it. Everyone thinks something bad happened
Day 4. I keep replaying that night. The roof. What I said. Did I scare you off? Was it my fault?
Day 5. Marcus canceled the final performance. Said it didn't feel right without you. We're all lost without you
The most recent is from yesterday: Day 6.
I don't know if you'll ever see this but I need you to know - you were the best thing about this summer.
The best Medea I've ever seen. The best person I've ever met.
And if something happened to you I don't know how I'll ever forgive myself for not making you go to the hospital when I had the chance. Please be okay. Please.
I run to the bathroom, barely make it to the toilet before I'm throwing up. Not much comes up—I haven't eaten enough for that—but my body tries anyway, heaving and shaking until I'm gasping.
When I finally stop, I'm shaking. Sweating. The fever spiking again.
I text Ben first because if I don't do it now I never will.
Me: Ben. I'm so sorry. I'm alive. I'm okay. I had to leave suddenly and I should have told you but everything happened so fast and I wasn't thinking straight. I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry for ruining the performance. I'm sorry for everything.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
Then I call Dad.
He answers before the first ring finishes.
"Vespera?" His voice breaks on my name. "Oh god, baby, where are you? Are you hurt? The police have been looking everywhere—"
"Dad." I have to cut him off before I start crying. "Dad, I'm okay. I'm safe."
"Safe? You disappeared from a theater in the middle of the night! Your bag was found backstage, your wallet, your keys, everything! We thought—" His voice cracks. "We thought you were dead. Or worse."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
"Where are you?"
I close my eyes. "I can't tell you that."
"What do you mean you can't—"
"Dad, I need you to listen to me. Really listen. Can you do that?"
Silence. Then: "I'm listening."
"It's them. The Alphas from Northwood. They found me."
I hear him suck in a breath. "I'm calling the police right now—"
"No. Dad, no. You can't."
"The hell I can't! They kidnapped you! Fated mates or not, they don't have the right to—"
"The genetic testing confirmed it." I cut him off. "All three of them. 99.97% compatibility. A triad bond."
Silence. Then, so quiet I almost miss it: "I'd hoped it wasn't true."
"What?"
"Nothing." His voice hardens, shifts. "That doesn't give them the right to take you—"
"I know. I know it doesn't. But Dad..." I have to force the words out. "The rejection is killing me. Not metaphorically. Actually killing me. My organs are starting to fail. I'm dying, Dad."
"Then you need a hospital—"
"A hospital can't fix this. The only thing that can fix fated mate rejection is—" I can't finish the sentence.
But he understands. "No. Absolutely not. There has to be another way."
"There isn't. The mortality rate for rejected fated bonds is over 60% and that's for single bonds. For a triad?" My voice breaks. "I'm living on borrowed time."
"So what, you're just going to let them keep you prisoner? Let them—"
"I don't know what I'm going to do." And that's the truth.
"But I know that if you call the police, if you try to take me away from here, I'll die.
Maybe not today, maybe not this week, but soon.
My body needs them, Dad. As fucked up as that is, my biology is bonded to theirs and breaking that bond is killing me. "
I can hear him crying now. Trying to muffle it but I can hear it anyway.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, baby. So much." His voice breaks again. "You call me every day. Morning and night. I don't care if it's just a text. I need to know you're alive."
"I will. I promise."
"And if they hurt you—"
"I'll call. I swear."
We hang up and I let myself fall apart. Crying so hard I can't breathe. My body shaking with sobs that hurt my ribs, my throat, everything.
My phone buzzes. Ben.
Ben: Oh thank god. THANK GOD. I've been losing my mind. We all have. Your dad, Marcus, everyone. Are you okay? Where are you? What happened?
Me: Long story. Family emergency. I'm safe but I can't come back to the program.
Ben: Is it the rejection sickness? Did you have to go to the hospital?
Me: Something like that. Getting treatment. Can't really explain more than that.
Ben: I'm just so relieved you're alive. I kept thinking about that last night, about how sick you were, and I should have insisted on the hospital and I'm so sorry I didn't
Me: None of this is your fault, Ben. You were nothing but good to me. The best part of the whole program.
Ben: I meant what I said on the roof. Every word.
My heart squeezes.
Me: I know. And I'm sorry I disappeared without saying goodbye. You deserved better than that.
Ben: When you're better, if you want to talk, I'm here. No pressure. Just... I'd like to know you're okay.
Me: Thank you. For everything. For being kind when I needed it most.
Ben: Always. Feel better, evening star.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
Ben was good. Safe. Normal. Everything the Alphas aren't.
And I'm never going to see him again.
Because even if I survive this, even if I somehow figure out how to navigate this fucked-up situation, I can't go back to that life. Can't pretend to be normal. Can't date sweet Beta boys who bring me coffee and call me evening star.
I'm bonded to three Alphas whether I like it or not. And that bond is either going to save me or destroy me, but either way, it's permanent.
My phone buzzes again.
Dad: Called the police. Told them you're safe, with friends, that it was a misunderstanding.
They weren't happy but they've called off the search.
Marcus from the program called too. I told him you're dealing with a family medical emergency.
He understood. Said your spot is open if you want to come back.
Dad: I don't like this, Vespera. But I trust you. Just please be careful. And call me tomorrow morning. I need to hear your voice.
Stephanie: Your dad told me you're okay. Thank god. I'm still in Columbus. Still here if you need anything. I know you don't want to talk to me but I'm not leaving until I know you're really safe.
The rejection marks burn.
My fever spikes again.
And somewhere deep inside, something shifts.
Not acceptance. Not forgiveness.
But maybe the first recognition that this is my life now.
And I have to figure out how to survive it.