Chapter 3
When I woke up, I was in another hospital bed. Sterile lights above me, the smell of antiseptic clinging to my skin, my body heavy like someone had poured concrete into my
veins.
And there he was.
Hakeem.
Sitting beside me with that permanent scowl, but this time his jaw was tight, eyes shadowed like something was actually bothering him.
“You really gotta stop testing me like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “You know I didn’t want it to go that far, Harmony. You push me and I snap. I told you not to keep pissing me
off.”
I turned my head, stared at the white wall beside me.
“I know,” I said. My voice was soft. Too soft. “It won’t happen again.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. That calm, detached tone of mine? He didn’t like it. Hakeem could handle my screaming, my crying. But silence? Silence made him feel like he was losing control.
He leaned in, cupped the back of my head like he still owned me. “Don’t act like this. Don’t make me feel like you’re scared of me. You know I hate that shit. Look, I got something planned for you. Something big.”
I didn’t move. Just listened.
“It’s our wedding anniversary next week. Three years,” he said. “I booked the yacht. Docked under Masterson Bridge. Midnight.”
Of course he did.
A floating palace under the stars. Moonlight, candles, champagne. No escape.
“I dropped seven figures on the setup,” he added, like that was supposed to impress me. “So put on something decent and show up.”
I stayed quiet.
After a beat, I asked, “Where’s Aziel?”
He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me. A live feed. My brother, sitting cross–legged on the floor of a luxurious room, a teacher walking him
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through phonics. A soft–spoken nanny poured juice into a glass behind thern.
“He’s fine,” Hakeem said. “Homeschooling starts today. He’s got everything he needs. Best tutors. Twenty–four–hour watch. No harm comes to him, long as you don’t give me a reason to change that.”
I nodded once. Silent.
He watched me for a long moment. Tried to read me, figure out where I’d gone behind my
blank face.
But he couldn’t.
Because I wasn’t there anymore.
When I stepped onto the yacht that night, the entire deck was drenched in candlelight. Crystal flutes lined the table, each filled with champagne I didn’t ask for. White orchids. twisted down the railings. Live violin music floated beneath the stars.
And in the distance–Masterson Bridge, glowing above us like the city itself was watching.
He pulled me into a slow dance beneath the moonlight, whispered against my neck, “Three years, baby. We made it.”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.
Because something inside me had gone quiet.
And when I looked out over the water, I made a promise to myself;
One more month to erase every trace.
To disappear for good. And this time, not even Hakeem Masterson would find me.
Then the elevator chimed. Doors opened. And out walked Margaret. Hakeem immediately went to her and Margaret wrapped her arms to him.
That bitter smile curled onto my lips before I could stop it. Not a decision. Just instinct. Pain wrapped in venom.
Hakeem saw it instantly and stepped in fast. “Don’t start. She just wanted to drop something off for you. That’s all.” I looked down, pretending not to notice how his fingers were laced with hers. But I noticed. So did he. He shifted, straightened his back, and gave me that look, the one that said don’t make me clean up a mess tonight, Harmony. Not here. Not under the stars I paid to light for you.
“Thanks,” I murmured. “Nice of her.” That fake composure pleased him enough.
He finally let go of her hand and came over to wrap his arm around me. Cold lips brushed my temple like an insult.
Margaret didn’t say anything. Just pulled a velvet box from her clutch and handed it to me
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with that soft, patronizing smile that never quite touched her eyes. I opened it slowly, standing near the glass railing, the dark waves of the river shimmering below.
Inside was a silver hairpin. Delicate. Etched. Familiar. My mother’s. Not just any pin–the pin. Slightly burned. The one with our family crest, with a hidden blade in the stem. She wore it the day she died. The same day Margaret burned her alive.
I couldn’t speak and my fingers curled around the box.
“Where… Where did you get this?”
Margaret blinked, playing her part. “Harmony… I found it in a tiny estate sale on the East End. I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know it meant something to you.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
“I’m not,” she said, eyes glassy now. “I thought… I just wanted to give you something special. It’s your anniversary. I wanted to be happy for you.”
I stepped forward. “You knew exactly what this was. You knew.”
Margaret slowly backed up. Her voice trembled, just loud enough for the guests and crew to hear. “Why do you hate me so much, Harmony? I’ve done everything to stay out of your way. I–I try to be kind. I smile, I stay quiet. I gave you that. And still…”
She kept walking backward, step by step, toward the edge of the deck. Tears began to fall. Right on cue.
“I just wanted to be happy for you. For both of you…
Another step back.
“Margaret,” Hakeem warned. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry I survived,” she cried. “I’m sorry I came back. Maybe I should’ve stayed dead.”
Then–she took one last step. And let herself fall. Her body disappeared beneath the black water with a splash that silenced everything.
Gasps cut through the night like glass. Guests froze. Forks clinked against plates. A violinist stopped mid–bow.
“She jumped…”
“Oh my god…”
“What did Harmony do to her?”
“I heard she’s been tormenting that poor woman for months…”
“She’s unstable. Always was.”
“Margaret!” Hakeem’s voice cracked, ragged and raw. He didn’t even look at me. He bolted forward and jumped without hesitation, crashing into the waves after her like the world would end if she didn’t resurface.
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The staff scrambled. Radios went off. Spotlights swung out from the yacht’s frame to scan the water. I didn’t move. I stood where I was, alone at the railing, fingers still clenched around the velvet box.
Below, I heard coughing. Splashing. Her name, echoing again and again.
“I told you she was jealous,” someone whispered.
“She always hated Margaret. This time she pushed her too far.”
“She should be ashamed. What kind of woman ruins her own anniversary?”
