Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
My heart splits clean down the middle
MICAH
I completed my exam in record time. I was the first to leave, as always.
I got home as fast as I could. Sophie and I are going to go pick up the last of her things at her place, and close that chapter for good. I need to be there for it—to protect her from that piece of shit in case he’s still lingering.
But the penthouse is quiet when the elevator opens. Too quiet.
“Sophie?”
Nothing. I check the bedroom, the kitchen. Her keys aren't on the counter where she always leaves them. Her bag isn't here either.
Fuck.
I grab my phone. The screen lights up—three missed calls and a string of texts from Nico. I forgot to take it off silent after my exam.
My stomach drops before I even finish reading.
Nico
Keller’s location shows he’s at her apartment.
Micah, pick up the phone.
SOPHIE JUST WALKED INTO THE BUILDING.
MICAH, WHERE ARE YOU?
The air leaves my lungs.
I should have told her. I almost did—a dozen times. I told myself I was protecting her. Keeping her calm until I could handle it. I was going to protect her. I told myself a lot of things.
I sprint back to the elevator and pray to God I’m not too late.
SOPHIE
Today's the day I move in with Micah.
He insisted we’d go together after his exam—wait for me, I’ll finish my exam fast. I told him yes the way you tell someone yes when you've already decided no.
Because the honest answer is I don't have much to come back for. A few clothes, some books. Twenty minutes, maybe less. I can do it myself.
Most of my things have migrated to Micah's on their own. I realized I hadn't even driven back to my own place in over a week. There's something quietly devastating about how fast your life can pack itself up and move on without you noticing.
This is the last time I'll ever step foot in this shitty little apartment. Poppy already moved her stuff out this morning with Wyatt, and—of course—she forgot to lock the door. It’s cracked open an inch, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it.
My stomach twists. Something’s wrong.
I push it open slowly. One step inside, and everything in me stills.
The air is filled with the stench of alcohol—sharp, sour, suffocating. The lights are on, but the place feels darker somehow. I don’t even have time to shut the door behind me before I hear it.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
That voice. That fucking voice. My heart drops. My vision narrows.
Mark is sitting at the dining table like he owns the place. Legs spread, arms draped across the back of the chair, a bottle of vodka beside him. His green eyes are bloodshot—just like I remember them. He looks exactly the way he does in my nightmares—calm, smug, and ready to hurt me.
“Get out,” I say, forcing steel into my voice even as my hands start to tremble. “Before I call the police.”
He leans back, languid and deliberate, a venomous smirk curling his mouth. “Where’s the goldilocks boyfriend? Left you already?”
“He’s downstairs. I’m moving in with him,” I lie. My knees lock. My fists curl at my sides. I try to stay still, try not to show fear.
“Yeah, and he sent you up to get all these boxes yourself. But go on—I love it when you lie,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, nastier. “Just like when you used to lie to your mom. Telling her nothing was going on between us. That drove me wild. You know that?”
He stands and starts walking toward me, casual like he’s just stretching his legs. I backpedal instinctively, breath caught in my throat, and bump into the wall behind me. My hand scrambles behind me to find the door, but I can’t find it fast enough.
“I’m so fucking tired of you playing hard to get!” His voice explodes. “I know you left the door unlocked for me.”
Then his hand follows. The back of it cracks across my face so hard my head whips to the side. For a second, I can’t even process what just happened. Heat radiates through my cheek. My ears ring. My knees nearly give out.
“Your mom was the same,” he snarls. “Didn’t know what she wanted either. Just one fuck, and she can’t get enough of me now—waited years for me to get out. Pathetic bitch.”
He steps closer, eyes dragging over me like I’m something he already owns. “She was hot back then. Still is, sometimes, when she shuts up. But she’s getting old now.” His lip curls. “Thank God you got her looks. Can’t see much through those clothes, though. Let me fix that.”
He lunges. Fist in my hair. He yanks me down so fast the world tilts. I crash to the floor, pain jolting through my spine. I kick, shove, twist—panicked, scrambling. He grabs at my coat, and starts tugging it off. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.
For one reckless, stupid second, I expect the door to burst open.
I expect Micah to come barreling in like he always does.
My body waits for him before my mind can catch up.
I’m so used to him being there to save me.
But he’s taking an exam right now. I know that.
I should have listened. I should have waited for him.
I still glance at the door, heart lurching, almost certain I’ll see him there. He’s always there for me. But I see something else. An umbrella. Not much, but the tip is metal. It’s pointed. It’s enough. So I grab it.
Mark lunges again, and I swing. The tip jabs into his ribs with a sick crack.
“Fuck!” He grunts and stumbles. “You bitch!” he slurs.
I don’t stop. I get up as fast as I can and jab the umbrella into his gut, then swing it up into his face like a bat. The impact shakes my arms. I swing again. Harder. His head snaps back. He stumbles into the table, knocking over a chair with a crash.
He’s drunk. Slow. And I’m not waiting to see what happens next.
I drop the umbrella and run toward the door. I fling it open and bolt, heart racing so hard I can hear it in my ears. I’m halfway down the hall before I realize—my bag. My phone. My keys. Car keys.
Gone.
I must’ve dropped them when he grabbed me—maybe by the door, maybe when I hit the floor. I don’t even know. But I can’t go back.
I shove the entrance open and burst out into the cold. And I run as fast as I can.
My body moves on instinct—pure, desperate survival. I don’t feel the pain in my side or the sharp ache in my cheek. I don’t feel anything except breathless terror propelling me forward.
The wind tears at my face. My shoes pound the pavement. I dodge pedestrians, traffic lights, everything in my way. My lungs burn. My vision blurs. But I don’t stop.
I don't stop until The Haven comes into view. I have no sense of how long I've been running—five minutes or thirty. Probably the latter, given the distance. My lungs are telling me thirty.
My legs are shaking, my coat half open, one sleeve falling off my shoulder. I nearly trip over the curb but catch myself on the railing.
Davis is just stepping out of the booth when he sees me.
“Miss Lennox?” His voice rises with alarm. “Are you—what happened?”
“I—I don’t have my phone,” I stammer. “Or the card. Please. I need to go up.”
He doesn’t hesitate. With one glance at my face, he swipes his card and holds the elevator open.
“Go,” he says.
I get inside and press the button, hands still trembling. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—pale, hair a mess, eyes red. There’s a red welt blooming across my cheek. I don’t even remember how hard he hit me.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.
MICAH
I sprint back to the elevator and pray to God I’m not too late.
But it dings before I even press the button.
The doors slide open.
She's there.
“Soph—“ The word dies in my throat.
She’s breathless, coat sliding off, hair a mess, eyes wide and glassy. Her left cheek is flushed and swollen—red like someone hit her.
There’s fear in her eyes—no, not fear. Terror—raw terror.
My heart drops. My blood runs hot.
She doesn’t say a word. Just runs straight into me.
I catch her, hard. Arms locking around her instinctively, already knowing she’s about to fall apart.
She’s trembling, sobbing, clutching my shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself. She’s crying so hard it feels like she might shatter in my arms. And it guts me.
I know her. I know exactly how she thinks. And I still left her alone. I should have skipped the exam.
I vowed I’d protect her. Promised she’d never face another monster again. But I failed. Fuck.
I tighten my hold on her. Press my lips to her temple and breathe deep, slow, trying to get her to follow. “I’m here, Sophie,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Soph. I’m so, so sorry.”
My thoughts are already spiraling, already turning lethal. I don’t care what it takes—I won’t let that bastard near her again.
This is the last time she ever has to feel this way. The last time she has a panic attack because of him. I’ll make sure of it—for real this time. Whatever it takes.
She’s still trembling in my arms, but her breathing has started to slow—just barely. I keep holding her, gently rocking us back and forth, my hand tracing slow, steady lines along her spine like I can draw the panic out of her body. I breathe deep and even, hoping she’ll follow.
Once I feel her body loosen just a little, I pull back enough to see her face. Her eyes are still glassy, lashes wet. But she’s here. With me.
She swallows hard. “He…he was in my apartment.”
The words land like a punch to the gut. My jaw clenches so tight it aches. Fucking bastard.
I lift a hand to her cheek—the one that’s still red and slightly swollen—and touch it as gently as I can. “And he did this to you?”
Her breath hitches. Her eyes fill again. And then she nods.
“I’m so sorry, Sophie,” is all I can say.
Tears spill down her cheeks, and her voice cracks. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s not the first time. He…he’s done worse before.”
My heart splits clean down the middle. No one should ever say something like that. Especially not her.
I brush my thumb over her cheek, jaw locked from how hard I’m trying to stay composed.
“He was at my apartment when I ran away, but I don’t know if he’s still there.
” She wipes her face. “But he gave me a motel keycard the other day. I didn’t take it, but I saw it.
Silver Pine Inn. His parole terms should include no alcohol, I think—because of the DUI that got him arrested. But he reeked of alcohol today.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding once, already piecing together my next move. “Come on.”
I help her up and lead her to the bedroom. She’s moving slowly, still in shock. I guide her to sit on the edge of the bed and kneel in front of her.
“I’m going to go to your apartment,” I say gently. “I’ll grab your stuff. Stay here. No one can get to you here.”
But before I can move, her hand reaches out and grabs my forearm—tight, trembling, desperate.
“Please don’t leave me, Micah,” she whispers, her voice barely holding together. “Please.”
That’s it. That’s all it takes.
I sit beside her on the bed and gently pull her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her like she might fall apart if I let go. Because right now, she just might.
“I won’t go anywhere,” I murmur into her hair, holding her close. “I’ve got you. I’ll have someone bring everything.”
I hold her close, one hand moving in slow circles on her back, and I feel the tension in her body gradually loosen. Her breathing evens out. Her grip on my shirt slowly goes slack.
She's asleep before I even realize it.
She must have run the whole way here, adrenaline carrying her every step. I don't even want to think about how long that took, how much she had to push through just to get to me. But she did. She came here.
And the fact that she feels safe enough now—safe enough with me—to just let go completely and knock out in my arms? That does something to me I don't have words for.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and hold her tighter.
I'm not moving an inch.