28. Chapter 28
Wren
I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains, my body pleasantly sore in ways that bring memories of last night flooding back. The bed beside me is empty, the sheets cool to the touch. I stretch, feeling the delicious ache in my muscles.
The faint smell of coffee drifts from the kitchen, pulling me from the warm cocoon of blankets. I dress quickly for work before I pad barefoot toward the sound of low voices.
I pause in the doorway when I hear Theo's irritated voice.
"---breathing down my neck again," Theo mutters, his back toward me as he tosses his phone on the counter. "Wants the vertical slice and a full player metrics report by Monday. It's like the guy feeds on stress."
Jace doesn't look up from his laptop. "Ignore him. He doesn't know the difference between a bug and a build."
I'm about to step forward when Theo continues, his voice dropping lower.
"Did you hide the one from yesterday? The chocolates?"
My blood runs cold. Chocolates?
"In my laptop bag," Jace replies, still typing. "With the others. I'll add it to the evidence pile tonight."
"I hate the notes that come with them," Theo says, running a hand through his hair.
"I know." Jace's fingers pause over the keyboard. "The note with the music box was the most disturbing yet. 'I remember when you used to sing, Lilliana. Soon you'll sing for me again.'"
The floor seems to tilt beneath me. My legs go weak as I grip the wall for support. They've been lying to me. All this time, while I believed I was safe, while I trusted them, they've been hiding the truth.
The stalker never stopped.
I must make a sound because they both turn suddenly, their expressions shifting from concern to guilt when they see me standing there. I clamp my fingers into fists, knuckles whitening.
"Wren," Jace says. "How long have you been—"
"What chocolates?" I sign as I move slowly toward them, my hands shaking so violently that when they smack together it echoes like a whip crack. "What music box? What notes?"
They exchange a look that makes my stomach drop further—that silent communication that now feels like betrayal rather than connection. "We were going to tell you," Theo says, stepping toward me. His voice is low, careful. "Today, actually. We decided last night—"
"How long?" I sign, cutting him off. My right hand slams against the counter with a sharp thud . "How long have you been lying to me?"
Jace's face is pale, his eyes pained. "Since the beginning," he admits quietly. "We wanted you to feel safe. To heal. The stalker never stopped, but we've been intercepting everything before you could see it."
Theo glances at Jace, then back at me. “We were even going to talk you into going to the police,” he says, eyes flicking with guilt. “To ask for their help and finally make this stop.”
My chest tightens. I feel sweat prick my brow, cold dread pooling in my gut. I feel like I might be sick. All these weeks I've been healing, finding my voice, believing I was protected—while they conspired in whispers behind my back, keeping me in blissful ignorance.
"Show me," I sign it like a command, my hands rigid and trembling, leaving no room for argument.
Theo exhales, shoulders drooping, and nods at Jace.
Jace stoops to grab his laptop bag from beside the counter.
From it, he pulls out a small wooden box.
When he opens it, I see them—dozens of items, each in its own plastic bag.
Photographs of me walking to work. Pressed flowers.
Handwritten notes. And there, on top, a child's music box.
My knees buckle. Theo lunges to catch me, but I jerk back, my hand smacking against his chest. The hurt that flashes across his face hardly registers—I’m too stunned.
"These have been coming all along?" I sign, my hands shaking. My hands flutter like wounded birds. "While you told me I was safe? While you let me believe it was over?"
"We were protecting you," Jace says, eyes glistening. His voice trembles with something like regret. "You were finally sleeping through the night. Speaking again. We didn't want to set you back."
"By lying to me?" I lash out, my signs sharp and punctuated by slaps of my palms. "By taking away my choice? My right to know what's happening in my own life?"
"It was wrong," Theo admits, gaze dropping to the floor before looking back at me pleadingly. "We know that now. We were going to tell you everything today, I swear."
A terrible thought strikes me. My chest tightens so much I can hardly breathe. I shove a fist into my hair, tangling my fingers in pink strands briefly.
"Is that why you never said it?" I sign, my hands jerk with each word. "Why neither of you ever said you loved me? Because this is just a game to you two? Playing protector, playing hero?"
Their faces freeze, horror dawning.
“What? No!” Theo blurts, stepping forward again, but I fling my hands toward him to hold him back. "Wren, that's not—"
"We thought you needed space," Jace says, but his words slip away beneath the roar of betrayal in my ears. "Time to heal without pressure. Without expectations."
I shake my head, and my hair swings around my face. Their explanations feel like chains tightening. They’ve made decisions about me—my life—without ever including me. Just like everyone else. My doctors. The police. My brother. Everyone thinking they know what's best for Lilliana Cain.
I back away, shoving my feet into my shoes by the door. I snatch my bag from the hook, keys rattling in my hand.
"Where are you going?" Jace asks, panic flitting across his face.
"Work," I sign curtly. "My shift starts in an hour."
"I'll drive you," Theo offers, already fumbling for his keys.
"No." The word rips from my throat—raw, jagged. It stops them both cold. I swallow hard, before my hands start moving again. "You’re right, I do need space, from both of you. Time to think."
"Wren, please," Jace steps toward me, vulnerability shining in his eyes as his fingers tap rapidly against his thigh. "It's not safe for you to go alone."
I stare at him, and the bitter irony tastes like ash. “Apparently nowhere is safe,” I sign in sharp movements. "Not even here with you."
Their faces crumple in hurt. But all I feel is numb. I slip on my coat, each movement mechanical, my heart pounding an angry beat.
“At least let one of us walk with you,” Theo pleads, voice urgent. “Just to the café. Then we’ll back off, I promise.”
I hesitate—rational thought whispering that I’m in danger—but fury pins me still. I shake my head.
“I’ll text when I get there,” I sign, my hands still trembling so badly the words blur into each other. It’s the only peace offering I can find.
Before they can argue further, I slip out the door, closing it firmly behind me. The cool morning air hits my face, grounding me as I hurry down the stairs and onto the street.
The walk to the café is only fifteen minutes, but today it feels endless.
Every person I pass becomes a potential threat.
The man reading a newspaper on the bench—is he watching me over the edge of the pages?
The woman walking her dog—why does she keep glancing in my direction?
The delivery driver parked across the street—has his van been there before?
My heart pounds against my ribs, my breath coming in short gasps as paranoia takes hold.
I walk faster, keeping to crowded areas, constantly checking over my shoulder.
This is what they wanted to protect me from—this suffocating fear, this constant vigilance.
But their protection came at the cost of my trust, my agency, my right to face my own reality.
A man in a hooded sweatshirt passes too close, bumping my shoulder.
I flinch violently, nearly dropping my bag.
He mutters an apology and continues on, but my pulse races as I watch him go.
Could it be him? The one who's been leaving gifts and notes?
The one who knows my real name, who remembers my voice?
By the time I reach the café, I’m trembling hard—and only when I push through the door do I realize my cheeks are wet with tears, cold drops sliding into my shirt collar.
Sweat beads along my hairline despite the cool morning air.
Maya looks up from behind the counter; her warm smile flickers out the moment she sees me.
“Wren? Are you okay?” she asks, setting down the pitcher she’s filling.
I can’t answer. My hands shake too badly to form coherent signs. I step past her into the back room, closing the door behind me. There, I lean against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees drawn to my chest.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Jace: [Did you make it to the café safely?]
My vision blurs. I type my response with trembling fingers, [Yes.] The second I press send, the floodgates open. Full sobs rip from deep in my chest, I press my head against my knees, hardly able to catch my breath.
There are footsteps outside and Maya calls through the door: “Wren?”
I can’t answer. Suddenly, the kitchen swing-door crashes open and Marcus storms in, arms flung wide.
“What the hell is going on in here?” His voice echoes off the walls. “You can’t just break down crying in front of customers. This is a café, not a therapy session!” He pins me with a glare. “You look like a lunatic. I can’t have people seeing you like this. Get it together—or get out.”
Maya steps between us. “Marcus, leave her alone!” she snaps.
Marcus's words hit me like a physical blow. Lunatic. It's too close to what I've feared all along—that I'm broken, damaged beyond repair. The walls of the back room seem to close in, air suddenly too thick to breathe.
"She needs space," Maya insists, but Marcus keeps talking, his voice becoming a distant roar in my ears as panic claws up my throat.
I can't be here. Can't breathe. Can't think.
My legs move before my mind catches up. Standing, I push past them both, stumbling through the kitchen and out into the main café. Customers turn to stare as I rush past, their faces blurring together. Someone calls my name—Maya, probably—but I can't stop.
The betrayal cuts deeper than I thought possible.
Jace and Theo lied to me. For weeks. Intercepting notes, hiding evidence, discussing me behind my back like I'm a child to be managed rather than a woman who deserves the truth.
After everything we've shared, everything I trusted them with. .. they kept me in the dark.
I burst through the café doors onto the sidewalk, gasping for air that doesn't seem to fill my lungs. People move around me in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, too bright, too loud.
"Wren! Wait!" Maya's voice follows me out onto the street. "Please stop!"
I can't. If I stop, I'll shatter completely. I need to get away, need to think, need to breathe.
My feet carry me blindly forward, away from the café, away from Maya's concerned calls, away from the memory of Jace’s and Theo's faces when I discovered their deception. I push through the morning crowd, barely registering the annoyed looks as I bump shoulders and cut across paths.
He's still out there. All this time, watching me, leaving gifts, writing notes about my voice, about singing for him. While I foolishly believed I was safe, protected by the men I trusted most.
"Wren, please!" Maya's voice is closer now. She must be following me.
I quicken my pace, turning blindly, desperate to escape, and slam straight into someone. Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. I look up, disoriented, trying to focus through my tears.
"I've been waiting for you to run to me," a voice whispers, so close to my ear that I feel warm breath against my skin. “Lilliana…”
Ice floods my veins. That name. My real name. Not Wren—Lilliana. The world tilts violently, memories crashing into me like a tidal wave. Hands around my throat. Wavy brown hair. A voice saying I'm his, that I'll never leave him.
My vision tunnels, darkness creeping in from the edges. I can't see the face in front of me, just a blur of features as my consciousness starts to slip away. The hands on my shoulders release me and I feel myself falling, my legs giving out beneath me.
I vaguely hear Maya scream. “WREN!”
The last thing I feel is the sharp crack of my head against concrete, and then nothing but blessed darkness.