A One Night with My Boss

Chapter 02: Hunted By My Past

The morning after felt like a cruel joke.

Sunlight bled through the curtains… warm, mocking. The kind of light meant for fresh starts, laughter, and peace. Not for women gutted the night before.

I sat curled on the floor, surrounded by empty tequila minis and unanswered calls from Ben, Rose, and my boss. I ignored them all.

Ethan’s words pounded: “I wasn’t there by accident.”

That matchbox belonged to Aquavit Place, the place I thought I’d left behind.

Not for me.

I sat curled on my apartment floor, the same spot where I’d once unwrapped anniversary gifts. Now littered with crumpled tissues and empty mini tequila bottles.

My phone buzzed again… Ben, Rose, my boss.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

My world had already collapsed.

But Ethan’s words were the aftershock that kept the ruins trembling.

And still, Ethan’s words played on a loop in my head.

“I wasn’t there by accident.”

What did he mean?

What did he know?

How did he get that matchbox?

Aquavit Place didn’t exist anymore. It had burned down when I was fourteen… with my mother inside. A fire they called an accident.

But Ethan hadn’t just mentioned it.

He’d handed me a piece of my past… like he owned it.

Why?

I didn’t even know this man, yet he haunted me more than Ben’s betrayal. More than Rose’s lies.

Worse still, something inside me recognized him.

Like a ghost, I’d forgotten I knew.

I forced myself up and stumbled into the bathroom. My reflection stared back, swollen eyes, smeared mascara, lips chewed raw from crying. I wiped the glass, hoping to find the girl I used to be.

But she was gone.

I wasn’t Daisy, the loyal girlfriend.

Not the hopeless romantic.

I was Daisy, the fool.

Daisy, the discarded.

Daisy, the woman who’d been played.

And yet… not entirely broken.

Not yet.

I turned on the shower, scalding hot, and let it burn the memories off my skin.

************

By noon, I dressed in jeans and a hoodie, my hair twisted into a messy bun, sunglasses hiding my swollen eyes. No makeup. No perfume. No trace of the woman who used to bake cupcakes for her cheating boyfriend.

I drove

But my hands had a mind of their own. And they led me straight to the one place I swore never to return.

My old neighborhood.

The ruins of our house.

Aquavit Place.

Or what was left of it?

Still a crime scene in my heart.

Ashes and silence.

The skeletal remains of our home stood like a tomb, overgrown with weeds and city silence. Faded KEEP OUT signs flapped like forgotten warnings.

But I stepped in anyway.

The gate creaked.

Broken glass crunched beneath my boots.

My mother’s voice still lingered in the wind.

I walked deeper… until I reached the old porch.

And there… right on the doorstep, lay another matchbox.

The same kind as Ethan’s.

Only this one was burned around the edges. And something was scrawled on the back in jagged, black ink:

You were never supposed to survive.

My stomach dropped.

I spun around.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No whispers.

Just silence.

Just that message… threatening, intimate… and familiar in a terrifying way.

My breath went shallow. I clutched the matchbox like it might save me from whatever this was.

Then I heard it.

A car engine. Low. Slow.

I ducked behind the porch railing, my heart pounding.

A sleek black car coasted past the gate…. windows tinted.

It didn’t stop.

Didn’t speed up.

But I knew it was watching me.

And I knew Ethan was connected.

****************

I drove straight to Murphy’s Bar. Again.

I didn’t plan to. My brain screamed to go home, call the police, and get help.

But my heart dragged me there like it knew he’d be waiting.

And he was.

Same stool.

Same whiskey.

Same unreadable face.

He didn’t look up as I approached, just swirled his drink.

“Stalking me now?” I asked, voice shaking more from rage than fear.

He raised his gaze. Calm. Cold. “You found the matchbox.”

“You left it,” I snapped.

He nodded once.

“Why?”

A pause. Then, coolly:

“Because you need to remember what happened that night. Before the fire. Before your mother died.”

The floor tilted under me.

“No,” I said sharply. “You don’t get to talk about her. You didn’t even know her.”

“I knew what she was hiding.”

That shut me up.

Ethan leaned closer. His eyes were ice.

“You’ve been living in a lie, Daisy. You think Ben’s betrayal is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?”

His voice dropped, low and steady.

“You haven’t even scratched the surface.”

I gritted my teeth. “What do you want from me?”

He downed the last of his drink and stood up.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then he walked out again.

Just like before.

But this time, I didn’t let him vanish.

*****************

I followed him into the alley behind the bar.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

He turned slowly.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it never reached his eyes.

I’m the reason you’re still alive,” he said, not like a hero, but like a man burdened by it.

I froze.

“What does that mean?”

He stepped closer, voice low, almost pitying.

“It means your mother made enemies, Daisy. And they never forgot.”

***************

I stood alone on the sidewalk, the burnt matchbox clenched in my fist like a talisman. The streetlights buzzed above, casting pale yellow halos on the wet pavement. Far off, a siren wailed.

Ethan was gone. Vanished like a shadow.

But the matchbox was real.

And the memory it dragged up was even more real.

Aquavit Place.

I hadn’t thought of that diner in years, not since the fire turned it, and everything I was, to ash. Pancakes. My mom’s warm hand. The clink of chipped mugs.

All of it swallowed in smoke and screams.

Why did Ethan have that?

Why now?

Why me?

I didn’t go home.

I couldn’t.

Ben’s cologne still clung to the sheets. Rose’s laugh echoed in the hallway.

I drove to the one place where the silence didn’t ask questions, or offer answers.

A motel off 52nd and Gray.

Flickering signs. Peeling paint. A clerk who didn’t even look up when I asked for a room.

Room 6.

I walked in, peeled off my coat, and collapsed fully dressed onto the bed. The sheets were reeked of bleach and cigarettes.

I didn’t care.

I stared at the ceiling. Counted cracks.

But I didn’t cry.

Hours passed. The motel walls never blinked.

I wanted to scream. To sob. To break.

But I just lay there.

Empty.

Ruined.

Like someone had scooped out everything I was and left behind something hollow.

The matchbox still sat in my hand.

**************

FLASHBACK

Smoke.

So much smoke.

I was nine. Hiding beneath a diner booth. Knees scraped. Hands over my ears.

Mom’s scream.

Alarms wailing.

Someone dragged me out. Not Mom. A man.

I didn’t see his face.

Only the scars on his hand.

And the silver ring. With a lion crest.

Just before I passed out, I heard him whisper:

“She’s the key.”

I jolted upright in bed, sweat soaking my spine.

“She’s the key…”

I remembered where I saw that crest before… Yes, in a photo in my mom’s drawer.

What the hell did that mean?

I clutched the sheets, my lungs fighting for air.

Something was happening.

Something dark and unseen, but close.

And Ethan?

He was the center of it.

**************

Later That Morning

The sun didn’t rise.

It crept.

Dull and gray, like it was grieving something.

I stood in the shower until my skin turned red, but the dread didn’t leave.

When I stepped out, a new message blinked on my phone.

Unknown Number:

You shouldn’t have opened the box.

I dropped the phone.

My knees gave out. I crumpled to the floor, towel clutched to my chest like armor.

What box?

I hadn’t opened anything.

Unless… they meant the past.

Unless Ethan was the box.

A Black SUV Across the Street

Inside, a man watched the motel window through binoculars.

“She’s starting to remember,” he said into a phone.

A pause.

Then a voice replied, cold and metallic:

Good. Let her.

But if she steps out of line…

Remove her.

***************

BACK TO DAISY

I curled up on the motel bed, towel still wrapped around me. The cheap lamp flickered overhead like it, too, was afraid.

I ached.

Not just in my body but in my bones. In my soul.

I wasn’t brave. Wasn’t strong. I was just surviving and barely that.

Didn’t feel strong.

I felt like a girl made of glass in a world full of stones.

Then, a knock.

One.

Two.

Then silence.

I froze.

The knocks look familiar like a knock from someone from my childhood who used to knock like this.

The matchbox sat on the nightstand, daring me to open it.

To face whatever this was.

But I wasn’t ready.

I was unraveling.

Piece by piece.

And whoever was on the other side of that door…

Was either going to finish breaking me.

Or prove I was never whole, to begin with.