ZOE DEAN'S POV
"Your father?" Fredda repeated, her voice sharp and incredulous through the phone. "What do you mean your father? I thought you said you didn't have family, Zoe."
I pressed a trembling hand against my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat. "It's… a long story, Fredda," I said quietly. "But if my dad is back, it only means one thing—trouble."
The words tasted bitter. My throat felt dry. I couldn't let him find me again. I wouldn't.
Images flickered behind my eyelids—his shadow stretching across our old kitchen floor, the sound of shattering glass, my mother's broken sobs. Her shaking hands pulling me close as she whispered, "Never speak his name again."
Michael Dean. The man who'd walked out when I was eight. The man whose name had been buried with my childhood.
But if he was alive… and looking for me—
"Zoe?" Fredda's voice broke through, softer now but laced with fear. "What the hell is going on?"
"I—" My voice cracked before I forced it steady. "I'll explain later. Just listen to me. If that man ever comes back, if he shows up again, tell him you don't know anything about me. You've never heard from me. Promise me, Fredda."
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing on the other end, unsteady and hesitant. "Zoe, are you sure you're okay? You can talk to me, you know. We've known each other for a year now—don't shut me out."
I closed my eyes, guilt pressing down on my chest. "I know," I whispered. "I promise I'll tell you everything soon. But right now, just do what I said. Please."
Silence stretched between us again, heavy and uneasy. Finally, she exhaled. "Okay," she said softly. "Just promise me you'll tell me the truth when you come back."
"I will."
When the call ended, I lowered the phone slowly, my hand shaking. The quiet that followed felt too loud, like the walls themselves were listening to my thoughts.
For a long moment, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. My father—alive? Here? Looking for me?
It didn't make sense. Fredda didn't know anything about him; I'd never told her his name. That meant she wasn't lying. He'd truly been there.
But how had he found me? And why now, after all these years?
I clutched the sheets tighter to my bare chest, shaking my head as if I could fling the thoughts away. No. No, this can't be happening. He can't come back. He won't ruin my life again.
He'd already taken enough—my childhood, my mother's peace, everything. He'd destroyed her piece by piece until there was nothing left but the ghost of the woman who'd once smiled at me. She'd died because of him, and I'd been forced to grow up with an aunt who never stopped reminding me of how dangerous he was.
A soft knock jolted me out of my thoughts.
"Zoe?" Emily's voice came from behind the door, small and curious. "Are you in there?"
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Aren't you coming down for lunch? You've been locked up in your room all day."
Her concern warmed me a little, even through the panic still gripping my chest. "I'll be right there," I called back.
"Okay. I'll be downstairs."
Her footsteps faded, and I exhaled shakily, pressing a hand over my heart. You can do this, Zoe, I whispered to myself. You're safe. He won't find you. You're not that scared little girl anymore.
Repeating those words helped—barely—but enough for me to find my footing again. I dragged myself to the bathroom, took a long, hot shower, and tried to wash the fear off my skin.
When I finally stepped out, dressed in fresh clothes, I still felt the faint tremor in my hands. But at least I could breathe again.
Downstairs, the dining hall was warm and sunlit. Emily sat at the table with a glass of milk, a plate of sliced fruits in front of her. When she saw me, she smiled brightly, relief flickering across her face.
"There you are!" she said.
I smiled back, though mine felt smaller, tighter. "Here I am."
I pulled out a chair beside her and sat, reaching for a banana mostly to keep my hands busy.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently, watching me.
"Uh-huh." I nodded, peeling the banana slowly. "Just… tired."
She seemed to accept that, taking another sip of milk. Then her eyes lit up as if she remembered something. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "Oh! Nero said I should give this to you."
My brows furrowed. "Nero?"
She nodded eagerly, handing it over. "He left it for you this morning."
I blinked, realizing how completely I'd forgotten that I'd woken up alone. Carefully, I opened the letter. His handwriting was beautiful—bold, slanted.
> I'm sorry I left before you woke up, baby. Had something important to handle with Somchai and Benny. For now, we'll be away from the mansion, but you have nothing to fear—it's heavily guarded. We'll be back soon. Take care of yourself and of Emily too.<
A soft smile tugged at my lips despite the storm inside me. I ran my fingers over the paper as if I could feel his touch through the paper. He thought of me.
Folding the letter carefully, I set it down on the table. For a moment, I let myself breathe in that small comfort before reality crept back in.
"Have you seen Elena?" I asked suddenly.
Emily shook her head. "No, not really. Why?"
"I just… I haven't seen her since that day," I murmured, frowning slightly. "I hope she's okay."
Emily shrugged lightly, her voice casual. "Don't worry about her. She's always been like that. She'll come around."
I nodded, though worry still lingered. "Okay."
Peeling another banana, I watched her for a while in silence. She looked so at ease, sipping her milk and humming softly. But in the back of my mind, unease curled tighter and tighter.
Nero was gone. My father was alive.
And for the first time in years, I could feel the past reaching for me again.