Whispers of Revenge

Shadow

დ Rosalie დ

The next morning started too early and felt too heavy. My mother moved slowly, dressing for the appointment with the careful stiffness of someone trying not to show how much everything hurt. I waited in the kitchen with coffee I didn’t want. Neither of us spoke much. When she finally came down the hall, I looked up. She looked smaller again. Not by much. But it was enough. Her coat hung loose on her frame. Her skin had that washed-out color I was already learning to hate.

“Ready?” I asked, and she nodded. The drive to the doctor’s office was quiet. Raven Hollow slid past the windows in gray strips of road. My mother kept both hands folded in her lap. I kept mine on the wheel and my eyes forward. Neither of us spoke, and I realized that I preferred the silence. The clinic sat in a neat brick building near the richer side of town. White trim. Trimmed hedges. Shiny windows. Inside, it smelled like disinfectant and stale heat. I hated the place immediately. They always expected bad news to land gently if the room looked polished enough. We sat in the waiting room while the minutes dragged. My mother kept looking at the floor. When the doctor finally called us in, I already knew. Not by anything he said, it was the way he said them. He was kind in the practiced way doctors learned to be. Calm face. Quiet voice. Hands folded on the desk.

“The treatment hasn’t had the response we hoped for,” he said. My mother did not move. Neither did I. He kept talking about how the cancer had spread. How it had progressed, and that the options were limited. His advice was that my mother get comfortable while treating pain management and to get as much rest as possible. He also mentioned that chemo was no longer helping and that more treatment would likely do more harm than good. It was clear that the goal was to help make my mother as comfortable as possible.

As if that was enough.

It wasn’t his fault, but his lack of sympathy grated on my nerves. The reality was that my mother had been dealing with this on her own, and the guilt that washed over me choked like a b***h.

“Do you understand?” the doctor asked my mother, who finally looked at him and nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to be demanding. But I didn’t trust myself, so I remained silent. The rest of the appointment blurred as he wrote out a new prescription for pain. He gave his instructions and made another appointment for a follow-up. When we finally left, the air outside felt too sharp. Instead of driving home, I made a stop at the pharmacy.

“I’ll get it,” I told her as I parked the car. “You…just wait here,” my mother looked tired, so she didn’t even argue with me. The bell above the pharmacy door chimed when I stepped inside. Warm air brushed my face. Shelves of medicine, skincare, and vitamins lined the space. It was exactly what one would expect. Ordinary. Calm. And I almost relaxed. But then I saw him.

Declan.

He stood near the far end of the aisle by the cold medicine, one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other holding a small paper bag. He looked up before I could look away. And just like that, the room shifted. Once again, he recognized me immediately. His gaze landed on me and stayed there with that same quiet force that had unsettled me in the parking lot.

I should’ve turned around.

But I didn’t. Maybe because I was tired. Maybe because running twice would have felt worse than staying. Declan moved first as he stepped closer. I could see the wariness in his eyes. He came close enough, but kept his distance.

“Rosalie,” his voice was low, controlled. But there was something in the way that he said my name that made my pulse jump. I did my best to keep my face blank.

“Declan,” speaking his name felt wrong. Up close, he looked even more dangerous than he had in the parking lot. Too composed. Too steady. There was no swagger in him like there had been in Weston. That made him worse. I hated that.

“How are you?” he asked. The question was so normal it almost threw me. I gave a short, cold smile.

“Is that really what you want to ask me?” something flickered in his face, but it was gone too quickly to name.

“I want to ask a lot of things,” he admitted. I stepped around him and headed for the counter at the back. The pharmacist took the prescription, and for a moment, I wondered if I could get away with ignoring Declan. I wanted to see if he still stood behind me, or if he had moved on. Eventually, the pharmacist returned with my mother’s medication, and when I turned, I saw that Delcan still stood in that same spot, watching me. I could feel his presence without touching him.

Dangerous.

That was the word. He was dangerous because he felt controlled enough to choose exactly what to show and what to hide. I paid and signed for the pain medication before I slid the bag into my purse.

“How long are you in town?” he asked. I paused as I considered his question.

“Why?”

“Because you are here. I never thought I would see you again,” his words were loaded, and it annoyed me more than anything else. He glanced toward the window. Toward my car, where my mother waited outside. His gaze came back to me almost immediately, but not before I noticed the tension that moved through him. Something was there.

Guilt. Recognition. History.

Good.

I let my expression soften by the smallest degree. Not warm. Just enough.

“You seem very interested in my life,” I said. His mouth shifted slightly.

“Maybe I am,” I hated the way that made me feel. I decided to give him something.

“Valemont suits me,” I revealed, and he nodded as his gaze held mine.

“I figured it would,”

“And Raven Hollow still suits you?” I asked. The question hung between us, and his expression changed, but only slightly.

“Some things do,” he said, and his answer told me nothing. And yet, it felt loaded. Like his words had a double meaning. This wasn’t like Weston. Declan wouldn’t give anything away by accident. If I wanted information, I would have to pull it out of him carefully.

Maybe he could be useful.

The thought was as ugly as it was sharp. I adjusted the strap of my purse.

“I should go,” I said, and he nodded once, but still he didn’t look away.

“See you around, Rosalie,” he whispered. I hurriedly left, but I understood that Declan Carrington wasn’t just someone from my past. He was a part of what came next. I could use him.

Just like he had once used me.

დდდ