Chapter 36
Home.
The word echoes in Max’s mind as he steals glances at Lila through the narrow gap between his monitors. She had called his place her home.
She sits by the window in his office, her e-reader resting on her lap as she stares absently at the city beyond the glass.
As if sensing his gaze, she turns her head toward his desk. “I promised my grandma a while back that I’d come home for Christmas,” she says softly, her voice drifting across the quiet room.
And we’re back to square one, he groans inwardly, rolling his eyes.
He slides his chair back and leans into it, studying her in silence. One hand rests near his chin as he takes in her posture and the way she clutches the e-reader to her chest, deliberately avoiding his eyes.
When their gazes finally meet, a chill runs through her. His stare is steady, unblinking, brimming with something she can’t quite name. Whatever it is presses down on her like a weight.
“I need to go,” she says quietly. “Or she’ll think something’s wrong…”
“We can go.”
“I think it’s better if I go alone.”
“We’re dating, and I’ll be on vacation. When else will I get the chance to meet her?”
She exhales slowly, forcing down the frustration tightening her throat.
“If you want to be with me, you’re going to have to trust me,” she says, her voice firmer now. “Because of you, I haven’t been able to speak to her for weeks. She’s going to find out, and when she does, she’ll hate you.”
Max quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “All right, Lila.” He straightens and opens a desk drawer, pulling something out. “I was planning to give this to you later, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.” He sets a white rectangular box on the desk.
She hesitates, her gaze flicking between him and the box. He says nothing, only watches her with quiet expectation. After a long pause, she rises and crosses the space between them, lifting the box and feeling its unexpected weight.
A phone. The newest, most expensive model.
“Everything’s been restored on there,” he says, his tone almost too casual. There’s an undertone she can’t quite ignore, a subtle pressure that makes her stomach tighten. Gifts from Max always come with strings, but…
“Thank you!” she blurts out, stepping around to his side of the desk and throwing her arms around him. “Yay!” The word slips out as she hugs him tightly.
Max chuckles softly, clearly amused by her sudden enthusiasm. His hand settles against her back, his fingers gliding lightly over the sheer mesh of her babydoll nightie. “Glad you like it, baby,” he says.
When she pulls away, he flashes that gorgeous, boyish smile she has always liked, the one she has been missing. He’s just been so smirky lately, she thinks, studying his face, before giving him a quick, impulsive peck on the lips.
Then she leaves him behind, hurrying to the bedroom. She sinks onto the bed with the box in her hands, a mix of excitement and caution stirring within her. The phone gleams inside, already on, fully charged, as if it’s been waiting just for her.
Her fingers tremble as she swipes across the screen—and freezes.
Everything has been restored. Right down to her lock screen and the same passcode.
She bites her bottom lip, pulse quickening, and unlocks it. Every photo of Jake. Every app she used to keep tabs on him. Every message, every note she’d written—all exactly as it was before Max had taken control of her life.
Then she sees them.
New text messages.
Several of them are from Jake.
Her hands shake as she opens them, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.
He’s alive.
He’s been safe all this time.
In a few text messages, Jake had explained what he assumed was a simple burglary.
A few large men had shown up at his door, barged in, subdued him, and left after stealing a few high-priced items. He wrote that he was grateful he had sent her home early that day, blissfully unaware of what had really happened to both of them.
There had been no security footage and no leads on the culprits. The police investigation quickly reached a dead end, the building’s poorly maintained cameras capturing nothing.
But Lila knows better.
The lack of footage can’t be a coincidence. It had to be Gunther, likely following Max’s orders to ensure there were no loose ends. Jake’s obliviousness both comforts and breaks her. While he’s safe, carrying on with his life as usual, he’ll never know the truth of what happened to her.
As that sobering thought settles over her, she realizes with quiet resignation that maybe it’s better this way.
His last message was sent a few days ago, a brief note saying he misses her and wonders if they can meet up on Christmas Eve. Although she feels the urge to respond, she can’t shake the sense that he’s already been pulled too deeply into her problems.
So, instead, she starts deleting everything related to him from her phone.
She holds back tears as she scrolls through her photo gallery, deleting every picture of him she’s kept over the years—the ones she’d painstakingly dug up online, the ones she’d taken herself from afar after finding his New York address. With a heavy heart, she empties the trash folder.
Then she moves on to their messages, which stretch back to their very first exchange, and deletes those too.
Tears blur her vision and flood her cheeks. She swipes at them with the back of her hand. She’d clung to those conversations, rereading the sweetest ones until she knew them by heart, line by line, hoping that one day their longest breakup would feel like nothing more than a minor bump in the road.
Next, she clears the history from her web browser and social media accounts, erasing an embarrassing number of searches for his name.
Yikes, she thinks. Did Max see all this?
…Of course he did.
That’s so fucking embarrassing.
Max, posing as Lila, had sent a text to her grandmother explaining that she needed space to sort through her feelings and would reach out when she was ready to talk again.
Ironically, after receiving several long, angry messages in response, Max had even suggested setting boundaries, as if he knew what those were.
She then listens to the voicemails Max left her on Thanksgiving Day.
“Hey, Lila. I hope your day’s going well. I really wish you were here with me. It’s not too late to change your mind. Just say the word, and I’ll pick you up. We can go somewhere nice—just the two of us.”
That was kind of cute, she thinks, a small smile tugging at her lips.
After changing her lock screen code, she starts browsing for new phone cases, hoping to find something cute yet sturdy enough to keep her new device from shattering.
“I’m going to make you pay for it too, you punk,” she mutters under her breath as she sends him a few options she likes.
Unbeknownst to her, her phone’s activity is being mirrored on a nearby screen.
Max had watched with quiet satisfaction as she meticulously deleted everything connected to her ex.
Her decision to erase the remnants of that relationship so quickly is unexpected, but it pleases him.
He had assumed she would cling to them for a while, but this way is better. She’ll heal faster this way.
“Good girl,” he murmurs to himself as he opens the links she sent.
A couple of days later, on the 22nd, Lila arrives back in her hometown.
She feels alone and overwhelmed, finding it jarring to be among people again after being isolated for so long.
The taxi ride to her grandmother’s house has drained what little energy she has left, leaving her physically weak and emotionally spent.
She doesn’t even have Max beside her, ready to drape a possessive arm around her while she leans on him for support.
The house before her now feels almost foreign.
It’s a small, two-story structure that sags under the weight of its years.
The once bright yellow paint has peeled away in several places, exposing soft, rotting wood beneath.
The chipped exterior makes the house look more than neglected; it seems abandoned, if not for the Christmas wreath hanging on the front door.
Overgrown weeds choke the garden, completing the picture of quiet decay.
As Lila stands at the gate, nausea swells in her chest. A powerful urge rises in her to turn back, to flee to New York and escape the oppressive weight of the past waiting inside.
Before she can move, the door swings open with a sharp crack.
“Lila! Good Lord, look at you! You look sick! You haven’t been taking care of yourself—I knew it!” Her grandmother’s sharp voice slices through the air as she barrels out onto the porch. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come on now. Hurry. Go put your stuff away!”
Lila reluctantly makes her way up the uneven driveway, dragging her suitcase behind her.
“And come right back down,” her grandmother adds as Lila approaches, reducing her once again to a child.
Then, unexpectedly, the old woman wraps her arms around her, pulling her close and pressing their cheeks together.
She inhales deeply, as if trying to trap the fleeting moment in memory.
Her hair, cropped shorter than Lila remembers, is dyed unevenly, as though she’d done it herself, and her small frame feels more fragile, bones jutting beneath delicate, papery skin.
The embrace, though slightly uncomfortable, softens Lila instantly, stirring guilt at the sight of her grandmother’s neglected appearance. But the feeling is fleeting.
Her grandmother pulls away just as quickly and resumes her familiar habit of nagging.
“I can’t believe you went almost four weeks without saying a single word to me. What if I had died?”
“You’re clearly fine,” Lila mutters under her breath, watching her still-wiry grandmother disappear into the kitchen and leave her standing awkwardly at the front door.