Chapter 34 #3
Silas wipes his brow with the back of his hand looking from me, to the guys, then back at me. He looks uneasy for somebody who rarely shows emotion. “We found these in a locked closet at Blake’s place. Thought you’d want to see.”
What the fuck?
Jasper steps closer, eyes narrowing. “What’s in them?”
Silas hesitates, then pulls back the lid on the first box, revealing stacks of old manila folders, spiral notebooks, thick envelopes bulging with God knows what. Photos peek out from the corners, faded and bent.
Silas gives me an apologetic look. “Most of it’s got your name on it, Sawyer.”
My stomach drops. My hands clench tight around the glass, so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Riot moves to my side, his presence grounding. “You wanna go through it, Hellcat? Or want us to do it first?”
I stare at the boxes, my own thoughts are too fast for me to even hear them. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. “I need to see.”
Macee comes barreling into the room like her ass is on fire. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was just concerned. I thought you might need me, so I’m here just in case.” She squeezes my hand as she finds herself a seat at the table, giving me some space.
Just then, Micah rounds the corner carrying two more boxes and plops them down next to the others. He notices my eyes widen and he says, “We found them in a hidden crawlspace under the floorboards in a locked closet. There’s more, but this is the worst of it.”
Riot’s hand finds my waist, and Jasper stands close on my other side, his jaw tight, murder in his eyes.
I nod, even though I feel like I’m about to throw up. “Open them,” I whisper.
Silas lifts the lid of the first box, and it’s like opening a crypt.
Box 1: Childhood Files & Keepsakes
Inside are my old school photos—ones I thought I had lost years ago, pictures from elementary school, a few of which show me with crooked bangs and missing teeth.
There’s a plastic bag with a single lock of dark hair, tied with a ribbon—my first haircut.
I remember my grandmother saving it, tucking it away in her old jewelry box.
I remember crying when I couldn’t find it anymore.
There’s another bag that contains my baby teeth.
My grandmother told me they went missing a few years ago.
My hands shake. Macee swears under her breath, balling up her fist.
Tucked between the photos are folders—my name scrawled across the top, but inside? Pages and pages of therapist notes, old school counselor evaluations, even one of my drawings of a house with broken windows, labeled “home” that I drew when I was in counseling around the age of six.
“Jesus Christ,” Jasper breathes.
“He’s been collecting things from when you were a kid,” Riot growls. “Who the fuck does that?”
Box 2: Recent & Secret Photos
Micah opens the following box. This one is worse.
Stacks of photos—hundreds, maybe more. I see myself at work, headphones in, hunched over my laptop. I see myself outside my sister’s house, hugging my nephew goodbye. There’s one of me laughing in a coffee shop with two of my friends from high school, sunlight catching the blue in my hair.
Some of these are recent. Some go back at least 5 years. But every single one is taken from a distance, like a hunter watching prey.
There are shots of me with my sister and my nephew out Christmas shopping, blurry from a telephoto lens—another of me and my parents, waving as I get into my car. Even some of me visiting my step mother and step sister, even with it being a rare occasion it was still caught on camera.
My hands go numb.
“Motherfucker was everywhere,” Macee hisses, voice trembling.
Box 3: The Stalker’s Shrine
This box is full of scraps, collages, and Polaroids—my face cut out, pasted over bridal magazines. “Mrs. Blake Lewis” scrawled in different pens and markers, over and over, filling the margins.
A spiral notebook, pages and pages of “plans”, lists of baby names, wedding venues, songs, menu ideas, all of it circled and starred. One page says “Sawyer forever” over and over until the pen broke.
I’m trembling, bile rising. Riot’s knuckles are white on the edge of the table. Jasper looks like he could kill with a glance.
Box 4: Digital Evidence
Micah pulls out a handful of USB drives and CDs.
“What’s on those?” Macee asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Silas flips open a laptop and plugs it in. My heart pounds as the files load—folders of voicemails, audio clips, photos of me sleeping, screenshots of my texts. One video plays for a second—grainy footage of me through a window, undressing for bed.
Jasper slams his fist onto the table. “Turn that shit off. Now.”
Box 5: Documents & Falsified Records
This box is paperwork. Thick manila envelopes, printouts. My name is at the top of therapy evaluations and doctor’s records, but I never signed a release for them. Every intimate secret, every diagnosis, every note. And then, at the bottom, a forged marriage license.
I stagger back, hand over my mouth. Riot catches me, holding me up.
“He forged a marriage license?” I whisper. “How—what?”
“Because he thinks he owns you,” Jasper says, murder in his voice.
Box 6: The Wedding Night Box
The last box. Smaller, white, tied with a black satin ribbon.
My hands shake as I open it.
Inside is a delicate set of black lace lingerie, exactly my size. A knife with my initials carved into the handle. A bottle of perfume I remember wanting as a teenager, but never buying for myself, silk ties, and a handwritten note.
My stomach sours.
I pick up the card, my vision blurring with tears. It reads:
“For Our Wedding Night. Can’t wait to finally make you mine, Mrs. Sawyer Blake Lewis.”
I choke back a sob, dropping the note onto the table.
Jasper’s arms wrap around me from behind, strong and shaking. Riot presses his forehead to mine, voice trembling with rage. “You are not his. You never were. it’s going to be okay, Sawyer.”
“I’m so sorry,” Macee cries. “Sawyer, I should’ve noticed. I knew he was terrible, but I never thought—”
I shake my head. “He would’ve found a way. He always does.”
Everyone’s talking. Macee’s swearing, Silas quietly promising that Blake will never get near me again, Micah closing the boxes with shaking hands.
But all I can do is stare at the proof of how deeply I’ve been watched, hunted, and wanted by someone who never loved me, only wanted to possess and own me.
And as I stand there, sandwiched between Jasper and Riot, something in me finally breaks free.
I’m done letting him own a single piece of me.
This is my reckoning now.