Chapter fifteen

Whispers from the Past

The first thing Hazel noticed was the quiet.

Not the kind that came from peace — this was the heavy kind.

The kind that pressed into your chest and made you hyper-aware of every breath.

Sunlight crept across the hardwood floors of Aiden's apartment, slipping past half-

closed curtains in thin golden stripes.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked slowly, steadily.

She blinked awake on the guest room bed, tangled in unfamiliar sheets, the scent

of cedar and faint cologne lingering in the air.

Aiden was still asleep.

She could hear nothing but the hush of early morning, the kind that almost dared you to move.

And so, she did.

Hazel wrapped the oversized T-shirt tighter around herself — his, probably — and stepped quietly out of the room.

She walked barefoot down the hallway, her fingers trailing along the wall as if she were following something invisible.

The apartment felt different now in daylight — not warmer, not colder — just stranger.

Like it had once belonged to someone else, and she'd stepped into their memory.

She paused in front of the bookshelf.

It stood tall and unassuming against the living room wall.

Books of every kind — worn hardcovers, poetry, biographies, philosophy — mixed in with scattered photographs and music sheets.

One book, in particular, caught her attention.

It was slim, its spine cracked from use.

A dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights.

She didn't know why she reached for it. She just did.

As she pulled it gently from the shelf, something thin and folded fluttered to the floor.

Hazel crouched down and picked it up.

It was a small piece of paper — cream-colored, slightly yellowed with time.

The folds were sharp. Purposeful.

Someone had tucked it away deliberately.

Her heart started to beat faster.

She unfolded it slowly.

The handwriting was feminine. Slanted.

Familiar somehow — like a whisper from the back of her mind.

She read the words twice before they fully settled in her chest.

"If you're reading this, I was right. He wasn't who I thought.

He'll say he's protecting her. That's how it always starts."

Hazel stared at the note, a chill crawling up her spine.

She looked back down at the book — flipping through the pages — and found a name scribbled lightly on the inside cover.

Emily.

Her throat tightened.

She rose to her feet, holding the note like it might vanish if she let it go.

Everything else — the warmth of the apartment, the intimacy of last night,

the protective calm Aiden offered — blurred at the edges.

He'll say he's protecting her.

He had said that. More than once.

Hazel turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over the apartment.

What else was she not seeing? What else had been left behind?

The room was the same — but she wasn't.

She tucked the note into her palm and walked over to the photo still lying face-down on the mantel.

She turned it over, hands trembling slightly.

Aiden. Emily. And someone else.

A third man — only half in frame. Smiling. Barely.

She stared at Aiden's face.

He looked younger. Softer. But the weight in his eyes was still there.

Hazel set the photo down carefully, her mind spinning.

Was Emily warning her about Aiden?

Or about someone else entirely?

A sound broke through the silence — soft footsteps, floorboards creaking.

Hazel turned just as Aiden stepped into the room. He looked disheveled but alert, his eyes immediately finding hers.

"You're up early," he said.

She nodded, slipping the note into the sleeve of her shirt without thinking. "Couldn't sleep."

He walked over to her, touching her waist lightly, as if gauging whether the

closeness from the night before still remained.

It did. But it was layered now. With questions.

He kissed her forehead gently. "I was thinking we'd go somewhere quiet later. Just for a few hours."

Hazel met his eyes. "Why?"

He hesitated. "Because I think we're running out of time."

She wanted to ask what that meant — to demand he tell her everything he hadn't

said yet — but the note was still burning in her palm. Emily's voice, caught in ink.

He wasn't who I thought.

He'll say he's protecting her.

Hazel forced a small smile. "Sure. Somewhere quiet sounds… good."

But inside, the questions bloomed like smoke.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure who she should be afraid of.