Jayden's hands shook slightly as he held the note. The room was too quiet. I could hear the faint ticking of the wall clock, and I hated it for being so calm when everything inside me was in chaos.
I took a cautious step forward. "Jayden, what do you mean 'him'?"
He didn't answer right away.
His eyes scanned the page again, but he didn't hand it to me. Instead, he crumpled it in his fist like it was toxic.
"I thought it was over," he said quietly. "I thought I buried it."
"Buried what?" My voice cracked with more desperation than I wanted to admit.
Jayden finally looked at me.
His expression was hollow. "There are things I haven't told you, Amara. Things I never wanted you to know."
I folded my arms to stop them from trembling. "Then now's the time to start talking. Because someone just dropped a letter at our door like we're in some kind of sick game. I deserve to know what's going on."
He hesitated, torn. I could see it. But I also knew something else—this wasn't just about me anymore. It was about us.
"I grew up thinking anger was a form of power," he began, his voice rough. "My father was a monster. And for a long time, I was convinced I'd never be like him. But then I started seeing bits of him… in me."
A lump formed in my throat.
He looked away. "I left everything behind. Changed cities. Changed my name. Started fresh. I worked my way up, built a business, made connections—but the past doesn't always stay dead."
I reached for his hand, but he pulled away.
"Jayden, I'm not asking for perfection. I'm asking for honesty."
He let out a slow breath. "The letter. It's from someone who knew my father. Someone who wants to remind me where I came from."
"Is this person dangerous?" I asked, my heart pounding.
He nodded slowly. "Yes."
I stared at him, mind racing. "Then why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
"Because I didn't want to lose you," he whispered.
There it was.
The truth, raw and messy.
And yet, in that moment, my fear didn't scream about the man at the door—it screamed about the one standing right in front of me.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Jayden laid beside me, body still, but I knew he wasn't asleep either.
My mind drifted to my mother. Her tired eyes. Her whispered warnings. "Love should not come with bruises—seen or unseen."
But here I was—caught in the quiet bruising of secrets and silence.
When I finally drifted into a restless sleep, I dreamed of my old town.
The scent of fresh grass. A quiet afternoon. And Eli—smiling at me from across the street.
I woke up with tears I couldn't explain.
And a phone buzzed beside me.
Not mine.
Jayden's.
I glanced at it.
The screen lit up with a message:
> "Did you tell her the truth, or should I?"
"Did you tell her the truth, or should I?"
I read the message once. Then again. The words glared at me like a threat dipped in ice.
I didn't want to touch his phone. I shouldn't have. But it lit up again.
> "Tick-tock, Jayden. Time's running out."
I quickly turned away as Jayden stirred beside me. I slipped back under the covers, trying to slow my breathing, pretending I hadn't seen anything.
But the damage had already been done.
Something wasn't right. And this wasn't just about his past anymore.
It was about mine too.
Because for the first time in a long time, I recognized that feeling creeping into my chest.
Fear.
---
The next morning, sunlight spilled into our apartment, golden and warm, but it didn't match the air between us.
Jayden kissed my forehead, told me he had early meetings, and left without mentioning the message.
I didn't bring it up. I wasn't sure how.
After the door clicked shut, I stared at the silence he left behind.
I had run away from so many things to start over in this city.
But maybe I hadn't run far enough.
I pulled out my journal—the one I hadn't written in since the move—and opened to a blank page.
"What if I made the same mistake she did?"
"What if love isn't supposed to hurt, but it always finds a way to?"
I wrote until my hands ached.
---
That afternoon, I visited the flower shop down the street—the only place that calmed me when everything else felt too loud.
The owner, an older woman named Mrs. Caldwell, greeted me with a warm smile.
"You look like you need tea and honesty," she said.
I laughed weakly. "Is it that obvious?"
"Your eyes are too loud today," she replied, handing me a warm cup.
We sat between pots of orchids and daffodils.
"You know," she said, stirring her tea, "I loved a man once who made me feel like walking on glass. It took me five years to admit I was bleeding."
Her words hit harder than I expected.
"But you got out?"
"I stopped calling it love," she said. "And that helped me walk away."
I stared down into my cup, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to wonder…
Was I already bleeding too?
---
Later that evening, Jayden came home late.
He smelled of his usual cologne and exhaustion. I watched him loosen his tie, set his briefcase down, and collapse onto the couch like he carried the weight of an entire war.
"You okay?" I asked gently.
He nodded. "Long day."
I stood behind him, unsure. I thought of the message. The name I didn't see. The pressure building behind his silence.
"Jayden... who's texting you at 2 a.m. about your past?"
He tensed. Not visibly, but I knew him too well.
"You read my phone?"
"It lit up in front of me. I didn't have to read it—it screamed."
Jayden stood and faced me fully.
His jaw clenched. "It's nothing."
"No," I said firmly. "It's never nothing. Not when you wake up sweating. Not when you flinch at shadows. And not when someone threatens to tell me what you won't."
"Amara, don't start this—"
"I didn't start this. You did. With your secrets. With this wall you keep expecting me to climb but never open the door to."
He stepped back, pain flickering in his eyes.
"I was trying to protect you."
"From who? The past? Or from you?"
The silence between us felt like a glass about to shatter.
Then the doorbell rang.
I blinked.
Jayden froze.
We stared at the door like it had teeth.
When he opened it, no one was there.
Just a box.
Small. Taped shut.
He bent, picked it up, and brought it inside.
"Don't open it," I said without meaning to.
But he already was.
Inside…
A photograph.
Of him.
Bloodied.
Younger.
And beside him—
A man with a scar across his cheek, grinning like the devil himself.
Jayden went pale.
I stepped closer. "Who is that?"
Jayden's lips barely moved. "That man's dead."
I stared at him.
And whispered, "Then why is he smiling?"
Jayden dropped the photo.
I watched it flutter to the floor like it had wings.
It landed face-up, that same haunting image staring at us both.
He stumbled back a step. His hand grazed the edge of the wall, steadying himself.
I'd never seen him look so… fragile.
"What do you mean he's dead?" I asked again, this time quieter. Sharper.
His silence made the question heavier.
Jayden picked up the photo again and stared at it. "His name was Marcus Devlin. He used to work with my father. Years ago. He—he wasn't a good man."
"Why do you have a picture with him?"
His jaw tightened. "Because once... I wasn't a good man either."
I blinked.
"Jayden…" I whispered. "What did you do?"
He didn't answer me. Instead, he walked to the box again and pulled out something else.
A letter. The handwriting was harsh. Slanted. Familiar, even though I knew I'd never seen it before.
He handed it to me. "Read it."
I unfolded the paper with shaky fingers.
> You don't deserve happiness. You don't deserve her. You think you've changed, Jayden, but I know who you really are. One step closer, and I'll tell her everything. Tick-tock.
My chest tightened.
"Is this blackmail?"
He didn't speak. His silence was screaming now.
I stepped back. "Jayden. Tell me what this is about. Now."
He looked at me, eyes suddenly dark. "It's not about you, Amara."
"But I'm in it now. Whoever this is, they know about me. They know I'm with you."
Jayden's hands balled into fists. "I'll fix it."
"No," I said, voice rising. "Stop saying that. Stop trying to carry the world and shut me out. If I'm going to stay in this relationship, I need to know who I'm sleeping beside every night."
His silence this time wasn't empty—it was a cage. I could feel the bars closing in.
Finally, he exhaled, voice rough. "I got involved in some things when I was younger. After my mom died. I was angry. Lost. My father used to say emotions make men weak."
I swallowed. "So, Marcus…?"
"He ran an underground fight ring. Illegal gambling. He liked chaos. And I was angry enough to give it to him."
My stomach turned.
"I never killed anyone," Jayden added quickly. "But I hurt people. I let myself become someone I hated. And when I finally got out, I swore I'd bury that part of me forever."
He looked up, eyes glassy.
"Then I met you. And for the first time, I wanted something soft. Something good."
I stared at him.
And I hated that despite everything—despite the photo, the letter, the anger—I still loved him.
But love couldn't erase danger.
Love couldn't ignore fear.
"You should have told me," I whispered. "You should have trusted me."
"I was afraid if you saw that version of me, you'd leave."
I stepped closer. "And now that I have?"
He looked at me like he was drowning. "Are you going to?"
My mouth opened, then closed.
Because I didn't know.
All I knew was that something bigger was coming.
And this box?
This was only the beginning.
A knock sounded at the door again.
We froze.
Jayden looked at me.
And this time, I saw something new in his eyes.
Not fear.
Panic.
He opened the door slowly.
A man stood there.
Not Marcus.
Someone else.
Tall. Sharp features. Cold eyes.
He smiled when he saw me.
"Hello, Amara," he said smoothly. "We finally meet."
Jayden stepped in front of me. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The man didn't flinch. He looked at me again.
"I'm the reason you're about to lose everything."
And just like that…
The truth was no longer waiting. It was walking through our front door.