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He knows all my vices and I’m tired of him seeing me at my worst.

Tired of needing him.

Tired of owing him.

And no matter how hard I try to trick myself into believing otherwise, it’s jarring to have all these tender moments from the past few weeks with someone who took me to get back at my brother.

Even worse when I think about how comforting he is. In every way.

He shouldn’t be the first person I want to see when I wake up, but he is.

His voice shouldn’t be the last sound I want to hear before I go to sleep, but it is.

Adonis is everything I didn’t want him to be. It’s exactly why I need a minute to myself when we get home from the pharmacy.

In my room, I set the paper bag with my new prescriptions on the nightstand, pivoting halfway before freezing at the sight of the folder that wasn’t there this morning.

In blocky handwriting, “FOR MS. DELILAH” is scrawled in black sharpie.

Below that is the string of ten numbers I memorized the day Indigo sent me the photo.

704-555-8851

Trying to steady my hands, I lift the folder and inhale.

“Oh my god.” I marvel at the weight of it. “When did he leave this here?” I wonder aloud, my mind flashing back to Adonis telling me Victor had the day off. A tender feeling consumes me at the thought of him using his day off to get this to me.

I make sure my door is closed and sit down on the floor with my back pressed against it.

Everything else on my mind is wiped clean as I open the folder, hands shaking and all.

A copy of a phone bill tops the stack of documents. My eyes scan it quickly, whispering the details to myself.

The account originated in Charlotte, North Carolina as I suspected. Five years ago.

But the name attached to the phone bill elicits nothing but confusion.

Elodie King.

I read it over and over, trying to ring a bell but coming up empty.

As I turn the pages, my brows pinch harder at every new detail.

Fifty-three years old.

Chemistry professor for the last two years at a private women’s college in Raleigh.

Married.

“The woman has her shit together, but what the hell does she want with me?”

As if he knew I’d have that question, the next paper Victor included is dedicated to every alias the woman has had.

Elodie King f/k/a Elodie Carmichael f/k/a Melody Rose f/k/a Melody Hart.

Over and over, my attention homes in on the name in the middle of the list.

Melody Rose.