23. I Knew You Were Trouble
23
I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE
I thought I had gotten away from him by escaping to Istanbul for Christmas with my family.
Am I really that dumb?
Yes, Saffy. You really are.
I have two big passions in life: music and food. If I had my way, I’d be singing in a band right now, living that rockstar dream. But, according to my parents, that’s not ‘proper etiquette’ for someone like me. Apparently, being a musician isn’t something you can bring up at fancy dinner parties without getting side-eye from our snobby social circle. So, instead, I’m training to be a chef. It’s not a bad compromise—food is an art in itself, but music will always be my first love.
Growing up, I took piano lessons, mostly because it’s one of those instruments that fits neatly into the image my parents wanted to project. Classical, refined, acceptable. And I was pretty good at it too. But everything changed when I hit my teenage years. Suddenly, it wasn’t about classical music anymore; it was about the bands. Specifically, the lead guitarists. They were mysterious and cool, and let’s be real—totally irresistible. DJs too, spinning records and making everything feel electric.
Heath Richards fell into that latter category.
I met Heath at a club in Surrey. Tall and blonde, he radiated confidence like he owned the place, which he kind of did because he was the house DJ. Heath had the uncanny ability to read the room, to sense the pulse of the party and play the perfect track that got everyone grooving. Up there on the stage, with the decks at his fingertips, it was like he was in his own world, a world made of beats and melodies. I could see the fire in his eyes, the passion that fuels his music, and it was infectious. One thing led to another, and bam, we were a thing. Talk about going from zero to one hundred. No slow introduction, just full-speed relationship mode. I fell for him hard; I won’t lie.
But you know what they say, the honeymoon phase doesn’t last forever. For us it only lasted a few weeks. Heath was very possessive. At first it was cute, after all it’s nice to be shown off and treated like a princess, but I soon learned to avoid any hint of interactions with other men, and that included my own father. The mere mention of another man’s name could trigger him, sparking an argument.
Heath was controlling as well.
He’d tell me what to wear with step-by-step instructions on how to put the whole outfit together. It was like he was on a mission to mould me into his picture-perfect girlfriend in skin-tight dresses and sky-high stilettos. But my curves weren’t too keen on the idea of squeezing into those dresses, and as for the stilettos? Well, let’s just say my feet and I had a mutual loathing for them, no matter the occasion. Heath even went so far as to attempt a total hair makeover. He wanted my wild curls to be tamed, all smooth and polished. But I put my foot down on that one. I am all about embracing my unruly, unique curls. They are a part of me that I truly love, and I’m not willing to give them up.
It wasn’t just about my appearance though. Heath’s need for control went way beyond that. He always wanted to know where I was headed and who I’d be hanging out with. I had nothing to hide but questions surfaced, lingering like shadows—how did he know certain private details about me, things that had happened in the privacy of my own home? It was then that I discovered the truth.
There were cameras installed in my apartment.
My apartment wasn’t just my space anymore; it had become infiltrated by a sinister presence and those unblinking eyes were everywhere, watching my every move, every private moment. The sense of violation was suffocating.
When I confronted him about the cameras, he denied it, insisting he knew these private details because we were so connected, so in sync.
I saw through the lie, but I also knew I had to play along. So, I put on a facade, going along with his little game. I smiled when I had to, agreed like it was no big deal. There were zero arguments, no pushback from me. All the while, I was secretly plotting my escape. I was meticulously working on a plan to break out of this suffocating trap he had me in.
When my parents said that we were going to Istanbul to spend Christmas with my sisters, I knew it would be my chance to escape.
And let me tell you, those initial five days in Istanbul felt like a deep breath of fresh air. We did it all—visited the iconic sites, indulged in the mouthwatering food from the street vendors that made my taste buds dance, and oh, don’t even get me started on the baklava. I basically turned into a human vacuum for every piece of that sweet, flaky goodness that came my way.
I even managed to sneak away from the parents for a bit of nocturnal exploration. The nightlife scene here is something else, vibrant, alive, and pulsating with energy. I let loose on the dance floor, and danced like there was no tomorrow. The beats throbbed through my veins, matching the rhythm of my pounding heart as I lost myself in the music.
I had finally started to feel like myself again.
Until this morning when Heath told me he is here… in Istanbul.
He had found me.
When I realised there were cameras in my apartment, I had an acquaintance, who works as a security analyst, check my phone. She found and removed the spyware that Heath had installed. He must have put another in without my knowing.
I wish I had thought to ask her to check again before I left.
Now Heath is here, in Istanbul, and his messages just keep pouring in, each one more venomous than the last.
I decided to confide in my sister Ginny about everything. She was so supportive and even offered me a place to stay with her family. Ginny’s truly incredible, but my other sister Sadie, seems like she might be a little harder to crack. Maybe I came on a bit strong, but honestly, I was beyond excited to finally meet them both. I really wanted to leave a positive impression. I mean, they could’ve easily hated me at first sight, yet they both seemed genuinely happy to meet me.
I never really understood why our mother didn’t introduce us, but then I’ve never really understood my mother. She always so preoccupied with how others perceived her, their opinions of her. Introducing her abandoned daughters from Australia would’ve undoubtedly fuelled gossip and speculation among her social circle. Daddy, on the other hand, was different. He was raised amongst these people, the London elite. He treated them as equals, but mother, being Australian, never quite fit in. She would always be an outsider.
As the front doors swing open and he steps into the foyer, I gulp back a breath. The confidence in his stride is unmistakable, and I realise that the city I thought would offer sanctuary has betrayed me.
His smile is there, the one that once had me believing in his sincerity, but now I see beyond it. His eyes harbour an unsettling intensity. Anger simmers just beneath the surface, and he doesn’t bother hiding it.
Honestly? I didn’t think he’d actually show up here, especially with my family around. He’s just like my mother—always concerned about appearances and making sure he leaves the perfect impression.
But here he is.
And I know now he’s never going to let me go.