Chapter 3

"Make it bigger?" Aunt June was shaking. "He nearly destroyed you and you're worried about making it bigger? Where the hell are your parents in all this? They're just going to stand there and watch?"

I didn't answer.

My dad was the estate manager for Ashton's family. My mom was the housekeeper. The three of us lived in the staff quarters on their property — housing, food, everything tied to that family.

In my parents' eyes, whatever Ashton did was the young master's business, and it wasn't our place to say a word. If I got hurt along the way, I was supposed to swallow it and move on.

That's what you do when you're the help.

"I want to transfer," I said quietly. "Leave Saint Mary's. Go somewhere nobody knows who I am."

Aunt June stared at me for a second, then it clicked.

"Done. You're transferring. Wherever you want to go, as far from that hellhole as possible."

"Come stay with me. I'll find you a school. I'll take care of everything."

She didn't waste any time. She pulled some strings and got in touch with the best public high school in her city. They looked at my transcripts and the diagnosis, and agreed to take me.

She also filed for temporary guardianship. Legally, I was under her care now.

I deleted Instagram and Snapchat, got a new phone number. Everything connected to Saint Mary's — gone. Cut out at the root.

That night, I lay in the guest room of Aunt June's apartment, staring out the window.

It was the first time in ten years I hadn't texted Ashton goodnight.

No matter how late it got, I always sent one. Sometimes he'd reply. Sometimes he wouldn't. But I never missed a single night.

Now I didn't have to anymore.

There was a hollow feeling in my chest. But underneath it, something looser. Like I could finally breathe.

My phone buzzed. A text from Aunt June.

"That Ashton kid has been blowing up my phone asking where you are."

"I didn't answer."

"You did the right thing, Chloe. Some people just aren't worth it."

I stared at that last message for a long time. Tears slid down without a sound.

Ten years of giving everything I had, and what I got in return was a public execution planned out for laughs.

The only joke here was me.

I told my parents the school had recommended me for an academic summer program — a month-long thing, out of town.

They bought it.

Mom was actually happy about it. She pressed two hundred dollars into my hand. "Don't be stingy with yourself out there. Buy whatever you want to eat."

Dad's parting words were: "Behave yourself. Do a good job. And don't give young Mr. Ashton any trouble."

I froze.

I was leaving for a program, and his first thought was still don't bother Ashton.

I didn't say anything. Took the money. Got in Aunt June's car.

When we pulled onto the highway, I didn't look back.

The new school was more ordinary than I'd imagined. No gothic spires, no manicured lawns like Saint Mary's. Just a plain, boxy public high school with beige paint on the walls.

But the moment I walked through those doors, something heavy lifted off my shoulders.

Nobody here knew me.

My guidance counselor was a soft-spoken woman, middle-aged, the kind who actually listens. She looked through my file, didn't press for details, just gave my shoulder a gentle pat.

"Chloe, welcome. If you ever need anything, my door's always open."

The boy sitting next to me was called Jamie, and he talked a mile a minute. Within five minutes I knew which teacher was the worst, which cafeteria window had the only decent pizza, and that the bench under the oak tree by the parking lot was the undisputed best nap spot on campus.

"Oh, and if you ever need help with schoolwork, talk to Eli. Student body president, sits right up front. Crazy smart, and actually nice about it."

He pointed at a boy in the first row, reading quietly. Tall and lean, with a clean profile — the kind of face that looked like it was drawn with a steady hand.

He must have felt us looking, because he turned around and gave me a small nod.

I felt a little self-conscious, but I managed a smile back.

New place. New people. Nobody staring at me sideways, nobody who knew anything about my past.

It felt like getting a second life.

I thought that was where the story of me and Ashton ended.

But I forgot — he was never the type to let go. Especially not when something he considered his went missing.

That afternoon, the final bell rang and I walked out the front entrance. And there, leaning against a car in the pickup lane, was a face I knew too well.