Zephyra

Chapter 26

The Girl Who Boarded a Plane, the One Who Didn’t

Violet

Something’s wrong. I know it before I open my eyes.

The air feels… off. Too still. Like it’s been holding its breath. There’s a sharpness to it, metallic and sour, clinging to the back of my throat.

I sit up slowly, the blanket slipping down my legs, and heart already pounding like it knows something I don’t yet. The apartment is quiet—no traffic, no pipes, and no neighbor noise. Just silence.

And the smell.

My brain supplies it before I can stop it. Blood or something trying very hard to smell like it.

Then I see the wall.

Eight words, written in thick, uneven strokes above the couch. The color is wrong—too dark, too wet, and too deliberate.

You killed my family. I will kill yours.

For a second, my body forgets how to function. I just stare. Like maybe if I don’t move, if I don’t breathe, it won’t be real.

It stays.

A sound tears out of me before I can swallow it back. I clamp a hand over my mouth, pulse roaring in my ears, suddenly certain someone is still here. Still listening.

Panic hits hard and fast.

My eyes dart around the apartment. Door locked. Windows closed. Nothing overturned. Nothing broken.

Ella.

I’m down the hall before my brain catches up, easing her door open just enough to see the bed.

She’s there.

Curled on her side, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing slow and even. One arm tucked beneath her chin like she’s done since she was little.

I stand there too long, watching her chest rise. Fall. Rise again.

Safe.

The relief nearly buckles my knees.

And then it curdles.

They stood right there. Close enough to hear me breathe. Close enough to watch my chest rise and fall while I slept.

They saw me like this. Exposed. Helpless.

My stomach flips, heat rushing up my spine, and cold sweat breaking out along my back. They could’ve killed me. I wouldn’t have woken up. I would’ve just… stopped.

My legs give out halfway to the kitchen. I grab a towel and scrub at the wall, hard enough to burn. The red smears instead of lifting, streaking into something uglier. Paint—or blood. I can’t tell, and I don’t want to.

I gag.

A pipe knocks inside the wall, and I flinch violently, towel slipping from my hands. Everything feels louder now. Sharper. Like the silence is waiting to pounce.

This doesn’t feel real. It feels staged. Like I’m still asleep and my brain hasn’t let me wake up yet.

But the smell is still there. And the words don’t fade.

Think. I have to think.

I rip one of the hallway tapestries off the wall and tack it over the message with shaking hands. I miss the drywall once. Twice. The thumbtack sinks into my finger, and I don’t even feel it. The blood beads up, bright and stupid.

Just another stain.

It covers most of it. It’ll have to be enough.

I slide down the wall, hugging myself tight, knees drawn in. I should call someone. The police. Cami. Somebody.

The thought of his name tightens something ugly in my chest.

What would I even say?

The duffel Cami sent sits beside the couch. Cash. Burner phone. Clothes. A folded note in her sharp handwriting reminding me to keep my head down, limit contact, and stay alive. She thought of everything.

Seven people are dead. Alessandra was just the first.

This isn’t about drugs anymore. Drugs are supposed to keep people coming back. This is slaughter. Someone who looks like me, using something that looks like my work, is murdering people on purpose.

And the world is already deciding it’s me.

My face. My drug. My fault.

The police won’t protect me. They’ll cage me.

And if they come back? What if next time there’s a knife? What if this wasn’t the first visit?

I curl forward, rocking slightly, the way I used to when I was little and the dark felt too big. I don’t want to die here. I don’t want Ella to find me cold on the floor, my own face haunting the news.

And what if it’s not me next time? What if they come for Ella?

Ella still sleeps with a light on. Still believes I can protect her. If they take me, what happens to that belief?

I don’t want to be a headline.

That’s when it settles—heavy and final.

I have to run.

Ella is still asleep when I brush a strand of hair off her cheek. My chest aches so badly I have to clench my jaw to keep it together.

She’s safe. That’s all that matters.

And I’ll do anything—anything—to keep it that way.

By sunrise, we’re in the car, the city waking up around us. Ella chatters excitedly beside me, oblivious to the way my hands grip the steering wheel too tightly, my knuckles white.

I just hope it stays that way.

I just hope I can outrun the next message—before it makes good on the promise written in red.

At the airport, I watch her check in, clutching her ticket, and bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. She turns back to me, beaming.

“I still can’t believe this,” she says. “A full ride to Langport. You’re going to visit, right?”

I force a smile. “Of course.”

She frowns at me. “Violet, are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

I shake my head, reaching for her hand. “I’m fine, just—just going to miss you, that’s all.”

Ella’s expression softens. “I’ll be back for the holidays. This isn’t goodbye forever.”

But it is. She doesn’t know that. She can’t. If I told her the truth, she wouldn’t leave. She’d stay. And then she’d die.

So I let her go, smiling like I’m not already breaking.

The final boarding call sounds, and she throws her arms around me. “I love you,” she whispers.

I hold on just a little too long. “I love you too.”

Then she’s gone.

I watch until she disappears down the gateway. My vision blurs, but I refuse to let the tears fall here. Not yet. I turn on my heel and push through the terminal, each step heavier than the last.

The cold air hits me as I step outside, and that’s when the first tear slips free. Then another. But I keep moving. I have to. I will survive. Because Ella is safe, and that’s the only thing that matters.

Now I need to get home, gather my go bag and hit the road. My mind starts to race wondering where to run to and how to stay hidden and survive.

I make it three steps before I slam into a wall of muscle. A firm grip steadies me before I can stumble, and then I hear it—a slow, amused chuckle.

“Running already, Kitten?”

I snap my head up, my gut twisting. Asher.

His smirk is infuriating, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable.

My pulse spikes. How does he know? How could he possibly know I’m running?

“Get out of my way,” I bite out, my voice shaking more than I want it to.

He doesn’t move. “Get in the car”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Not a chance. Fuck off, Asher.”

His smirk deepens as he takes a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Come on, Kitten. You really think you can do this alone?”

I stiffen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes flick over me, reading me too easily. “Sure you don’t.”

A chill creeps up my spine. Why is he here? Why does he keep showing up?

I take a step back. “Why would I get in a car with a near-stranger?”

A shiver skates down my spine, not just from his presence but from the gnawing certainty that someone else is watching too. The break-in. The message. ‘You killed my family. I will kill yours.’ It’s etched behind my eyelids now, impossible to forget.

His smirk doesn’t falter. Then he sighs, placing a hand over his chest like I’ve wounded him. “And here I thought we weren’t strangers anymore. Not after the way you came on my fingers.”

My stomach drops, heat rushing to my face, but I force myself to turn away, pushing past him.

His voice follows me.

“I’ll be seeing you, Kitten.”

I take the long way home, doubling back twice, slipping into side streets, watching for tails. My paranoia is justified—I know it is. Because if Asher found me at the airport, who else is watching? Who else knows? I can’t afford to be reckless.

By the time I reach my apartment, my nerves are stretched so tight they hum. My hand shakes as I jam the key into the lock, twisting harder than necessary. The door sticks, then groans open.

I step inside and slam it shut behind me.

Relief lasts exactly half a second.

The air feels… wrong. Heavy. Like it’s been disturbed. Like it remembers someone else breathing in it.

I don’t even get the door locked before the sensation hits—prickling heat crawling up my spine. That unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Then—

Slow. Deliberate.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Took you long enough, Kitten.”

My blood flash-freezes.

I spin, heart punching my ribs hard enough to bruise.

Asher Redmont is stretched out on my couch like he pays rent. One arm draped over the back. Long legs crossed at the ankle, completely at ease in my space.

I blink once. Twice.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I snap, grabbing the nearest object with weight and potential. My lamp. “How the hell did you get in here?”

His smile is lazy. Infuriating. “Locks aren’t really an issue for me.”

“Oh.” I heft the lamp. “That’s comforting.”

I throw it.

Hard.

He catches it midair like I just tossed him a pillow, sets it down gently beside him.

Polite. Controlled.

My stomach drops.

Right. Not just arrogant. Dangerous.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Asher,” I bite, backing toward the hallway, eyes already mapping exits. “I need to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He shifts forward—just a little. Predator-ready.

I bolt.

Big mistake.

He’s on me in seconds. Arms locking around my waist, lifting me clean off the floor like gravity’s optional. I kick back hard, heel connecting with his shin.

He grunts. Doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Let me go, you absolute psychopath!” I claw at his arms, thrashing, and twisting. It’s like fighting a wall. A smug, infuriating, and unfairly strong wall.

“Relax, Kitten,” he murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Promise?” I snap, throwing my head back for his nose.

He shifts. My skull slams into his shoulder instead. Pain explodes behind my eyes.

Fuck.

“That’s enough.” Still calm. But sharp now. Edged.

I pant, breath burning. “You—are—completely insane.”

“Maybe.” He adjusts his hold and starts walking. “But at least I’m not stupid.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means running right now is the dumbest move you could’ve made.”

Before I can respond, I’m flipped over his shoulder like cargo.

“Oh, hell no,” I snarl, pounding his back. “Put me down, you asshole!”

He chuckles, and pats my ass. “Not happening.”

Next thing I know, I’m dumped into the backseat of a sleek black car. I scramble for the door immediately—but he’s already there, blocking it, with his arms crossed.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Go to hell.”

“Later.” He shrugs. “Right now I’m keeping you alive.”

“I don’t need your protection!”

A soft hum. Amused. “You really do.”

“Fuck you.”

His lips twitch as he slides in beside me. “You keep offering, Kitten. One day I might accept.”

I glare at the tinted windows as the car pulls away, nails biting into the leather. “Where are you taking me?”

Silence.

Every time I lean forward, his hand lands on my knee—firm. Final.

I don’t break first.

The car eventually slows into an underground garage. The second the locks click, I lunge again.

Too slow.

He catches my wrist, pulls me back, opens the door himself. “Out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Violet.” Quiet. Commanding. Non-negotiable.

I grit my teeth and step out.

He keeps hold of my wrist as he drags me toward the elevator. The doors slide shut, and I whirl on him.

“This is kidnapping!”

His smirk returns. “And?”

“And?” I sputter. “That’s it? You just… take people now?”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a massive penthouse, all glass and sleek edges.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the living room, offering an unobstructed panorama of the cityscape.

The room itself is a study in modern elegance, with sleek lines and minimalist decor that draw the eye outward to the breathtaking view.

The ceiling soars above, adding to the sense of openness and grandeur.

For a moment, the sheer beauty of it all makes me forget the circumstances that brought me here.

“H—holy shit,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

I immediately step back, regaining ground.

“You’re trapped,” he says casually, punching a code into the keypad behind us. “No exits. No friends.”

My stomach churns. Why me? Since when do CEOs personally trail people through the city and kidnap them?

Don't they have assistants for this kind of thing?

A team of goons? But no—of course Asher Redmont, billionaire businessman, has decided that personally abducting me is the best use of his time.

Maybe he just got bored of hostile takeovers and thought, You know what would be fun? A little light kidnapping.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I try to look around the room, searching for any sign of an exit, but his deep voice has me turning back toward him.

He turns to face me fully, his gaze sharp. “You’re staying here.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Like hell I am.”

His jaw flexes. "You want your life back, Violet? You want to stop looking over your shoulder, wondering when they're going to drag you off in cuffs? You stay here. And in return, I clear your name. I find the girl pretending to be you, and I make sure everyone knows who the real culprit is."

I freeze. My breath catches. “You know who she is?”

“Not yet.” His voice is cool. “But I will.”

I shake my head, backing up toward the windows. “Why would I trust you?”

He steps forward, gaze locked on mine. “Because I’m the only chance you’ve got.”

“Why do you even care!” I scream, taking another step toward the windows.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.

But he’s right. Isn’t he? I’m in over my fucking head with these drugs. I didn’t even want to do this in the first place. But now I am stuck.

And that makes me hate him even more.

Asher chuckles. "Welcome home, Kitten."