Chapter Four - Playing With Fire
1152 Words
"Wait, wait—hold up. You left? As in, you got up and just left him there?"
Sally dropped her phone on the table and put it on speaker, giving complete focus to her laptop. “Yes, Fiona. I left.”
“You didn’t say anything? Not even a polite ‘see ya later, douchebag’?”
“I didn’t have time for courtesy. Plus he was over at another table, with a bunch of friends.” Sally muttered. “Someone literally texted me saying I'm going to be the next dead wife. That’s a little more important than dinner with Mr. Rich-and-Rude.”
Fiona let out a low whistle on the other end. “Okay, fair. But did you at least grab a bottle of wine on the way out?”
Sally snorted. “No.”
“A bread stick?”
“No.”
“A single complimentary mint?”
Sally rolled her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Fiona.”
“What? You ghosted a billionaire at a five-star restaurant, babe. I need to know you got something out of it.”
“Well, here's what I got - him constantly calling my phone,” Sally replied dryly. “And a new headache.”
“Oh wow, you got a billionaire worried.” Fiona said with a snort.
“Shut up, you.”
Sally glanced over at her laptop screen, still scouring news articles and archived social posts, trying to find anything—anything—about Martha's death. Why was the cause of death undetermined? They should've just put anything up there, but nothing at all? That only piqued Sally's curiosity.
“Any luck?” Fiona asked, chewing on something audibly through the phone.
“No,” Sally sighed. “It’s so weird. She was from a wealthy, popular family too. It’s so strange how the press didn't get something, anything.”
Fiona paused. “What if she died a shameful death.”
Sally’s fingers froze on the keyboard. “Like suicide?”
“Yeah, Or maybe she was r***d and killed? You know…parents like that wouldn't want people to know their daughter died that way.”
Sally leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. “I know…but they would've at least said she died in her sleep. You know, something to get people's minds off it.”
“People didn't really care how she died then,” Fiona said. “The majority were really concerned about BTS’s world tour, including me.”
“Ugh…this is really frustrating.” Sally groaned.
“Have you tried calling the number that sent the text?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah, I've tried a million times. It's like the number has been disconnected. Like the person doesn't even want to be reached. Why will someone drop a message like that and just disappear?” Sally ranted.
“Relax, Sal,” Fiona said with a calming voice.
Sally didn’t answer. Her mind raced through a hundred possibilities, each darker than the last.
Her other phone buzzed on the table.
She bent over to check.
Dominic Harvey. Calling.
“Ugh. He’s calling me again. How did he even get my number?” she groaned.
“Maybe your mom gave it to him.” Fiona said. “Just pick up. He’s probably furious you ditched him.”
“I hope he’s furious,” Sally muttered, declining the call.
“Darling, you're playing with fire.”
Sally rolled her eyes. “I’m lucky my mom isn’t home or she’d be shoving the phone down my throat.”
Fiona laughed. “Yeah, Madeline would’ve already set up a public apology.”
“Don’t give her ideas,” Sally grumbled, clicking to a new tab on her browser.
Her thoughts drifted again—to the message from the strange number. Was marrying Dominic endangering her life? And in what way exactly?
She was spiralling.
Someone out there not only knew about the arrangement, they’d known fast. Faster than seemed possible.
“How do you think this person found out so quickly?” Sally asked aloud.
“Maybe it was someone in the restaurant.”
“That reminds me,” Sally said. “Fee, I saw Craig.”
“What? In the restaurant? What was he doing there? When did he get back?” Fiona asked, clearly shocked.
Sally exhaled. “Nah, just outside the restaurant. And honestly, I was as shocked as you are. I completely ignored him, and I kind of felt bad.”
There was a pause. Then Fiona’s voice softened. “My love, he left the city and stopped calling you. You had to move on with your life.”
Sally hesitated. “I still miss him sometimes though.”
“I know darling. He was your first love, first kiss, first s*x. It's hard to let go.” Fiona said with a hint of humor in her voice.
Before Sally could say anything else, her other phone buzzed again. This time, a message.
From: Unknown Number
“Be ready. I don’t like being ignored.”
Sally stared at the screen, heart skipping.
She quickly screenshot it.
“Fiona,” she said slowly, “he just texted me. From an unknown number.”
“Dominic?”
“Has to be. I blocked his main line.”
Fiona’s voice was cautious. “You blocked him? Wow, the boldness!!! Wait…What did he say?”
“‘Be ready. I don’t like being ignored.’”
Fiona let out a long breath. “Okay, that’s… mildly terrifying.”
Sally swallowed. “Maybe I should’ve taken a bottle of wine.”
The next morning arrived too quickly.
Sally was in the kitchen, hair in a loose bun, wearing an oversized hoodie and pink slippers, sipping her coffee and pretending she hadn’t spent half the night refreshing every digital trail connected to Martha Harvey’s death.
She heard it before she saw it—the low, unmistakable growl of an expensive engine pulling up outside.
She went to the window and peeked through the blinds.
And there it was.
BMW M5…sleek, black and sinister.
Her stomach sank.
“No,” she whispered.
She opened the door just as the driver stepped out and moved to the back.
And then—
Dominic stepped out.
Black slacks. A black coat. Sunglasses.
Sally looked at him, confusion twisting her face. “What’re you doing here?”
“As much as it pains me to say it, you ditched me at the restaurant. And as if that was not enough, you ignored all my calls.”
“I had better things to do.” Sally blurted.
“Well, if you had picked up, I would've told you to pack your things and get ready to move in with me.” Dominic said casually.
“What?” Sally squealed.
“We are getting married tomorrow. I'm not leaving except you leave with me.”
- Writer
