I stood frozen on the staircase, heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else. The water continued running upstairs, steam drifting faintly from the hallway. Scout stayed downstairs, growling softly—smart enough not to follow.
Carefully, I pulled out my phone.
No call to 911.
Not yet.
I needed answers first.
Instead, I opened Elena’s last text from six hours earlier:
“Flight booked. Love you. I’ll call when I land.”
Something inside me twisted. I replayed every detail of the day—her rushed packing, her avoidance of eye contact, her strangely vague explanation about the trip. None of it clicked then.
It clicked now.
I took another step upward, slow enough not to creak the wood. The humming stopped abruptly. Water still ran, but the voice was gone.
Then the shower turned off.
My breath lodged in my throat.
A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened.
Marcus stepped into the hallway with nothing but a towel around his waist. Dripping. Relaxed. Completely at home.
And when he saw me, his smirk died instantly.
“James,” he said, voice tightening. “You… you’re home.”
I didn’t shout. I didn’t rush him. I didn’t swing.
I just stood there, staring at the man who wasn’t supposed to exist in my life anymore. The man Elena had sworn she blocked, deleted, avoided, moved on from.
“What are you doing in my house, Marcus?” I said quietly.
He swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He hesitated. His eyes flicked down the hallway toward the guest room.
And that was all the confirmation I needed.
“Elena’s not in Seattle,” I said. “Is she?”
Marcus’s silence answered.
The bathroom floor creaked. A soft, familiar voice drifted out.
“Marcus? Did you take my—”
Elena stepped into the hallway wearing one of my T-shirts—and froze the moment she saw me.
Her face drained completely.
“James,” she whispered.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t trust myself to.
Marcus stepped in front of her slightly, as if shielding her from me. The gesture made my jaw clench.
“Elena,” I finally said, voice steady but shaking inside, “tell me he didn’t come here alone.”
She closed her eyes.
And everything collapsed.
“James,” she said softly, “please… just come downstairs. I can explain.”
I laughed—a hollow, stunned, painful sound. “Explain what? That you pretended to be out of the state so you could bring the one man you swore you’d never see again into our home? Into my shower?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t feel sympathy—only betrayal.
Marcus took a step back, raising his hands. “James, this wasn’t supposed to—”
I cut him off. “You don’t talk. You don’t speak in my house.”
He froze.
Elena’s voice trembled. “Please. Just listen.”
I looked at her—really looked. At the guilt. The fear. The exhaustion. She didn’t look like someone caught cheating.
She looked like someone hiding something deeper.
I exhaled sharply. “Fine. Start talking.”
But nothing in me was prepared for what she said next.
Elena’s hands shook as she gripped the bannister. She looked small, fragile—like someone bracing for impact.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered.
Marcus shifted behind her, jaw tight. “Elena—”
“I said don’t speak,” I snapped without even looking at him.
Elena flinched.
She motioned toward the living room. “Please… just come downstairs. Both of you.”
I didn’t want to sit. I didn’t want to breathe the same air as him. But some part of me—the part that needed to understand why—forced my feet to move.
We took positions in the living room like three people waiting for a verdict:
Elena on the couch, Marcus standing behind her like a shadow, and me across from them, arms crossed.
She looked at me, eyes red. “James… Marcus isn’t here because of an affair.”
“Really,” I said bitterly. “He just needed to borrow my shower?”
Her tears streaked down her cheeks, but her voice remained firmer than I expected.
“He’s here because I asked him to come.”
My stomach turned.
“For what?” I said. “Closure? Nostalgia? A reunion in my bathroom?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “For protection.”
I stared at her. “Protection from what?”
She hesitated.
And then the words I never expected came out.
“From my brother.”
I blinked. “Your brother? Elena, your brother died four years ago.”
“That’s what I told you,” she whispered. “But he didn’t.”
My brain stuttered. “What?”
She pressed her palms over her face, shaking. “He disappeared. Into debt. Into drugs. Into people who don’t forgive. And lately… he’s been coming around again. Showing up at work. Calling from blocked numbers. Making threats.”
I sank slowly into the chair. This… this wasn’t anywhere near what I thought.
“Elena,” I said cautiously, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d call the police. And he said if I did that…” Her voice cracked. “He’d come after you.”
Marcus stepped forward slightly, speaking for the first time since downstairs. “He’s dangerous, James. I’ve dealt with him before.”
I turned on him sharply. “And why are you involved in this?”
He exhaled. “Because years ago, I owed him money. I thought I was done with him—until he found Elena again. She called me because she knew he’d listen to me before he listened to anyone else.”
Elena nodded miserably. “I lied about the business trip because I needed Marcus to meet him here tomorrow. Away from my workplace. Away from you.” Her voice broke completely. “I didn’t want you near him. I was trying to keep you safe.”
I leaned back, stunned.
The shower.
The humming.
The lie about Seattle.
None of it was romance.
It was fear.
It was desperation.
It was a woman trying to handle a threat alone because she thought I couldn’t help her.
A long silence hung between us.
Finally, I asked the only question that mattered:
“Elena… do you want me involved now?”
She looked at me—a look full of shame, guilt, and something unexpected.
Relief.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t do this alone anymore.”
I nodded slowly.
Then I turned to Marcus, voice firm. “Tomorrow, your meeting with her brother? I’m going too.”
He looked uncertain. “James—”
“You said he listens to you,” I said. “Good. He’s going to listen to both of us.”
Elena covered her mouth as tears slipped down her chin.
For the first time that night, something steadied inside me.
Betrayal had brought me upstairs.
But truth—ugly, complicated truth—was what kept me from walking out the door.
Tomorrow wouldn’t be easy.
But tonight?
Tonight, the real story finally began.
