Chapter 2 - SOMEONE HAD ALREADY CALLED THE POLICE
I heard the knock at 3:31 a.m.
Not on the kitchen door.
On the exterior service entrance.
Ethan returned less than a minute later with a female police officer and a paramedic.
I panicked immediately.
“No.”
Ethan stopped several feet away.
“Ivy.”
“I said I didn’t want—”
“You don’t have to make a statement tonight.”
The officer nodded.
“That’s correct. We can document your injuries and explain your options.”
My hands shook.
Ryan had said nobody would believe me.
He said I would lose the job.
Lose the apartment.
Lose everything.
I looked at Ethan.
“Did you call them?”
“No.”
That frightened me.
“Then who did?”
The officer checked her notes.
“Anonymous caller.”
“When?”
“About three ten.”
That meant someone reported the attack before I told Ethan.
Someone had either seen it or known it happened.
The paramedic examined my throat.
Her expression became serious.
“We need you evaluated at a hospital.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“My shift—”
Ethan cut in.
“You are not finishing your shift.”
My stomach dropped.
He saw it immediately.
“With pay, Ivy.”
I looked away, embarrassed by how quickly fear controlled me.
The officer asked if I knew my attacker.
My mouth went dry.
Ethan moved farther away.
It took me a second to understand.
He was giving me space.
He was not going to answer for me.
So I answered.
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Ryan Mercer.”
The officer wrote it down.
“Relationship?”
“Coworker.”
“Former partner?”
“No.”
“Ever dated?”
“No.”
That seemed to matter.
Because Ryan had spent the last four months telling people otherwise.
The first time he asked me out, I said no politely.
The second time, I said I wasn’t interested.
After the fifth time, I stopped answering.
Then came comments.
Hands on my waist when he passed behind me.
Messages after midnight.
Threats disguised as jokes.
I had blocked his number.
He created another.
I told my supervisor.
Nothing happened.
The officer looked up.
“You reported him?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
Marjorie Bell.
Director of household operations.
My direct supervisor.
The officer wrote that down too.
Then Ethan asked from across the kitchen:
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
His expression changed.
“Marjorie never informed me.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Why would she?”
Nobody responded.
At the hospital, imaging showed no fractures.
The doctor was more concerned about my throat.
He explained why strangulation-related injuries could become dangerous later.
Hearing the word strangulation made me feel detached from my own body.
Ryan had grabbed my throat.
I knew that.
But naming it made it different.
At 5:42 a.m., while a nurse photographed bruising for my medical record, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT QUIET.
My blood went cold.
Another message appeared.
ETHAN CAN’T PROTECT YOU FROM EVERYONE.
I showed the officer.
She immediately requested the number be preserved.
Then a third message arrived.
ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR MOTHER’S CLAIM.
I stared at the words.
My mother had died fourteen months earlier.
“What claim?”
I whispered.
The officer asked what I meant.
I didn’t know.
But at exactly 6:03 a.m., Ethan called the hospital.
His voice was tight.
“Ivy, don’t take your medical documents to accounting yet.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because somebody just deleted your mother’s file from our system.”
