Chapter 2 - Twenty-Two Minutes Later
Nathaniel’s car was waiting outside.
Not a limousine.
Not anything dramatic.
A black SUV with a driver I recognized from the office.
Mr. Harris.
He looked at me through the rearview mirror, noticed the blood, and immediately looked away.
That small act of courtesy almost broke me.
Nathaniel opened the back door.
I climbed inside.
He sat on the opposite side rather than beside me.
Space.
Another choice.
Another thing I had forgotten I was allowed to have.
“Hospital?” he asked.
“No.”
He waited.
“I’m fine.”
His gaze moved briefly to my nose.
“Isla.”
I sighed.
“Urgent care.”
He nodded toward the driver.
“Closest private clinic.”
It was after midnight when a physician examined me.
No fracture.
Heavy bruising.
Minor cut.
The doctor asked what happened.
I lied automatically.
“I walked into a door.”
Nathaniel was standing near the window.
He looked at me.
Not accusingly.
Just quietly.
The doctor looked between us.
Then she pulled a stool closer to my chair.
“Would you like him to step outside?”
I hesitated.
Nathaniel had already moved toward the door.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He left without a word.
The doctor waited until it closed.
“Did someone hurt you?”
My throat tightened.
For years, I had constructed a vocabulary around what Derek did.
Arguments.
Bad nights.
Mistakes.
Temper.
Stress.
Too much alcohol.
I had never used the simplest word.
“Yes.”
The doctor’s expression softened.
“Are you safe tonight?”
I looked toward the closed door.
“Yes.”
It was the first true answer I had given a doctor in a long time.
She documented everything.
Photographed the bruising with my permission.
Gave me information about domestic violence services.
Explained that I could make a police report immediately or later.
I said I needed time.
She did not pressure me.
When I came out, Nathaniel stood from a chair in the hallway.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“No.”
He nodded once.
“That sounds more accurate.”
The SUV took us downtown.
I assumed he was bringing me to a hotel.
Instead, we stopped in front of a residential building overlooking the river.
“My sister owns an apartment here,” he said.
“She’s in London for six months.”
I stared at the building.
“I can’t stay at your sister’s apartment.”
“You can.”
“Nathaniel—”
It was the first time I had used his first name.
He noticed.
I noticed that he noticed.
Neither of us mentioned it.
“I’ll pay her,” I said quickly.
“You can argue with her about rent when she returns.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“You will.”
He got out.
I followed.
The apartment was quiet and elegant but lived-in.
Books.
Framed photographs.
A blanket folded over the back of the sofa.
A bowl of keys near the entrance.
It did not feel like a hotel.
It felt safe.
That frightened me more than I expected.
Nathaniel placed my overnight bag inside the guest room.
“I’ll have someone bring groceries tomorrow.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I know.”
That answer irritated me.
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Helping without asking whether I want help.”
He looked at me for a moment.
“You called me.”
I folded my arms.
“Yes.”
“I came.”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m offering options. You’re allowed to say no.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
He was right.
I hated that.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I do that a lot.”
“I noticed.”
A tiny silence passed.
Then something almost like amusement touched his eyes.
“I’ll work on it.”
He moved toward the door.
Panic hit me unexpectedly.
“Wait.”
Nathaniel stopped.
I hated how vulnerable my voice sounded.
“What if he comes here?”
“He doesn’t know this address.”
“He can find things.”
“He won’t find this.”
“You don’t know Derek.”
Nathaniel’s expression changed.
Not arrogance.
Certainty.
“No,” he said. “But I know men who confuse control with power.”
I looked at him.
“What’s the difference?”
“Power doesn’t need to frighten someone to exist.”
The words stayed with me.
Nathaniel took a business card from his wallet and wrote a number on the back.
“My private line.”
“I already have your number.”
“That was my office cell.”
I looked down.
“This one rings beside my bed.”
A strange warmth moved through my chest.
I immediately hated it.
“You should sleep.”
“I doubt I will.”
“Then don’t.”
He opened the door.
“Sometimes stopping the fight is enough for one night.”
When he left, I locked the door.
Then checked it twice.
Then three times.
I sat on the sofa until sunrise.
At 6:12 a.m., my phone began exploding.
Derek.
Twenty-three missed calls.
Fourteen messages.
ISLA PICK UP.
I’M SORRY.
YOU MADE ME PANIC.
COME HOME.
WE NEED TO TALK.
WHO IS HE?
DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?
I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—
Then apologies again.
I stared at the screen.
It was the whole relationship in fifteen messages.
Fear.
Love.
Threat.
Regret.
Possession.
Repeat.
At 7:03, a new message appeared.
From Nathaniel.
You are not required to come to work today.
I typed:
I’ll be there at nine.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
That wasn’t a suggestion.
Despite everything, I smiled.
I stayed home.
At ten, groceries arrived.
At eleven, a locksmith came and changed the apartment’s secondary security code.
At noon, Nathaniel’s sister called me from London.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “You must be Isla.”
I froze.
“I’m sorry. Nathaniel told you?”
“He told me a colleague needed somewhere safe.”
My face warmed.
“He didn’t tell me details. He knows better.”
I sat down.
Her name was Claire.
She was younger than Nathaniel by four years and apparently far more talkative.
“Stay as long as you need,” she said.
“I can pay you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I insist.”
“Great. Put the money in an envelope, then buy yourself something nice with it.”
I almost laughed.
For the first time since the night before, I felt something other than fear.
Then my phone buzzed.
Derek again.
This time, there was a photograph.
My office building.
Taken from across the street.
Underneath:
Tell your boss I’d like to meet him.
My stomach dropped.
I called Nathaniel.
He answered immediately.
“Isla.”
“He knows where I work.”
“Of course he does.”
“He sent me a picture.”
“Forward it.”
I did.
Silence.
Then:
“Don’t come to the office.”
“I need my job.”
“You still have your job.”
“I can’t hide forever.”
“No. But today is not forever.”
I stood and began pacing.
“He’ll make this into something. He always does.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll say you and I were having an affair. He’ll call people. He’ll embarrass me.”
Another pause.
“Does any of that make it true?”
“No.”
“Then we deal with facts.”
His confidence should have comforted me.
Instead, it made me angry.
“Easy for you to say.”
Nathaniel was silent.
I regretted it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
I closed my eyes.
Right.
No apologizing.
“This is my life,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You have security. Lawyers. Money. People listen when you speak. Derek could ruin me with three lies and a Facebook post.”
Nathaniel’s voice softened.
“Then we document the truth before he writes the lie.”
That afternoon, I made a police report.
Nathaniel didn’t come with me.
At my request, Claire’s attorney connected me with a victim advocate named Mara.
She sat beside me while I described the previous three years.
Not everything.
Not yet.
Enough.
Every time I said something I had normalized, Mara’s face reminded me it was not normal.
He checked your location every hour?
He controlled your passwords?
He damaged your belongings?
He isolated you?
He threatened you?
He hurt you?
By the time I finished, my hands were cold.
“Why did I stay?” I asked.
Mara looked at me.
“That’s not the useful question.”
“What is?”
“Why did he choose to keep hurting someone he said he loved?”
I cried then.
Really cried.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
Three years of shame came out in a small police interview room while a stranger handed me tissues and waited.
By evening, Derek had been warned not to contact me.
By midnight, he contacted me anyway.
A new number.
You think your rich boyfriend can protect you?
I stared at the message.
Then another came.
He doesn’t know you like I do.
Then another.
You’ll come back.
They always do.
I did not respond.
I took screenshots.
Sent them to Mara.
Then blocked the number.
At 1:15 a.m., someone buzzed the apartment.
I froze.
The intercom rang again.
My entire body went cold.
I picked up the receiver.
“Who is it?”
A man’s voice answered.
“Delivery.”
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Flowers.”
My breathing stopped.
“From who?”
A pause.
“Derek Paulson.”
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, security removed the flowers.
The next morning, Nathaniel came by.
Not inside.
He stood in the hallway because I had not invited him in.
He handed me a coffee.
My usual order.
“How do you know this?”
“You drink the same thing every morning.”
“That’s unsettling.”
“Occupational hazard.”
I held the cup.
Then looked at him.
“He sent flowers.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Building security called me.”
I frowned.
“Why would they call you?”
“My sister owns the apartment.”
Of course.
“I feel like I’ve created chaos in everyone’s life.”
Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened.
“You didn’t create it.”
I looked away.
He waited.
Finally, I whispered:
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“What if he doesn’t stop?”
Nathaniel leaned against the opposite wall.
“Then we keep stopping him.”
“We?”
Something in his face became still.
“You called me, Isla.”
His voice was quieter now.
“I’m not disappearing because the difficult part started.”
My chest tightened.
I stared at my coffee.
“No one’s ever said something like that to me.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“You always make emotional moments sound like board meetings.”
“That is also an occupational hazard.”
I laughed.
A real laugh.
For about three seconds, the world felt normal.
Then Nathaniel’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I watched him.
The softness disappeared.
“When?”
A pause.
“Keep him there.”
Nathaniel ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Derek came to the office.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did he do?”
“He asked for me.”
“And?”
Nathaniel’s eyes hardened.
“He brought photographs.”
I went still.
“What photographs?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me.
“Pictures of you.”
I stopped breathing.
“What kind of pictures?”
He looked directly at me.
“The kind he should never have possessed.”
And suddenly I understood.
Leaving Derek had not ended the nightmare.
May you like
It had simply forced him to reveal how far he had already gone.
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