Chapter 29
The orderly behind Rachel didn’t even bother responding to her screams. He immediately called the cops.
The man who threw the acid? Caught.
Same guy who had mailed a dead rat to Isla two weeks earlier.
Unfortunately for everyone, he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. No jail time—just a lifetime locked away in a psychiatric facility.
The chaos finally subsided, and only then did Julian find the nerve to go to Rue’s place.
He stood outside her apartment, fingers hovering just shy of the buzzer, hand frozen.
The door opened before he could decide. Rue was heading out, trash bag in hand, and nearly collided with him. Her eyes immediately narrowed.
“Julian Carter,” she said sharply, stepping back. “I told you to stop showing up.”
“I just want one answer,” Julian rasped. His voice was frayed like it had been dragged over gravel. “I need to atone for everything I did to you. I have to—”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Rue cut him off, voice disturbingly calm. “Isla Monroe is dead. If you want forgiveness, try digging up her grave.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed hard. He reached for her wrist.
“But you are Isla… you have to be.”
Rue yanked her arm away, oranges spilling from the bag and rolling across the floor.
“So what if I am?” she said flatly. “When the System wiped me out, it took my love for you with it. I’m Rue Monroe now. Nothing more than someone who’s seen a very disturbing movie.”
Julian looked like he might implode. He grabbed her shoulders, desperation overtaking sanity.
“Tell me what to do. I’ll transfer everything I own to you. I’ll get on my knees. Just tell me what you want!”
She stared at him with brutal honesty.
“I want you to disappear.”
The words ripped right through him.
She peeled his trembling hands off her and walked past, not even glancing back.
“Isla bet her life on your love,” she said, voice like smoke. “Now it’s your turn to live with what you did.”
Two weeks later, North Bay Villa.
The salt air rolled through the windows. Julian sat motionless on the couch, a whiskey bottle half-drained on the table.
His phone screen was still lit up with Isla’s last photo—her hair windblown, laughing at the edge of the ocean.
“Isla…”
His fingers grazed the brittle edges of her suicide note. He tossed back a handful of sleeping pills and washed them down with scotch.
“I can’t even hallucinate you anymore,” he whispered.
The next morning, at the Shay family’s house.
“Cheers!” Ava Shay hollered, champagne in hand. “To my second bar opening!”
Rue raised her glass, only to find Shane Shay quietly switching her red wine with grape juice.
The celebration paused when the TV screen cut to breaking news.
“Julian Carter, former CEO of Carter Enterprises, was found dead this morning in his North Bay villa in an apparent suicide…”
Rue’s fork slipped and clattered onto her plate.
The camera panned to the villa’s living room. Then zoomed in on a note resting on the coffee table.
[There is no world without Isla. I’m going to find her, to make it right.]
Rue picked up her fork again. Her fingers were trembling.
“Do you want to change the channel?” Shane asked softly, leaning in.
Ava and Leo had stopped talking too, their eyes on Rue.
She shook her head, managing a fragile smile.
“No. I’m good,” she murmured, turning to Shane. “You said you wanted to learn guitar?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. If you’ve got time.”
Rue laughed quietly. “Then I’ll teach you.”
She raised her glass, clinking it gently with theirs. And in the background, the waves on the TV rolled in and out, just noise now—nothing more.
