CONTRACTED: lies secret and possession

CHAPTER 1 Roselle POV The rain had been falling since morning. I don’t know why I kept noticing it. Maybe because everything inside me already felt heavy, and the sky just decided to match it. I stood by the window, arms loosely folded, watching droplets race each other down the glass. Some made it fast. Some slowed halfway and disappeared like they got tired. Just like everything in my life lately. I let out a slow breath and turned away. The apartment was quiet. Not empty — I hate when people assume silence means emptiness. It wasn’t empty. It was just… maybe …heavy. My footsteps were soft against the floor as I walked past the sofa, past the bookshelf I hadn’t touched in weeks, past the dining table that looked too neat for someone whose life was slowly slipping out of control. And there they were. The letters. Stacked like they had patience. I didn’t need to open them to know what they said. But I still did. FINAL NOTICE. My jaw tightened. “Of course,” I whispered, barely hearing myself. It wasn’t surprise anymore. It was routine. A cruel kind of routine. My fingers traced the paper anyway, The Numbers stared back at me. Deadlines. warnings. Words that tried to sound polite while choking you slowly. I dropped the letter back on the table. My chest felt tight, but I forced my breathing to stay even. I’ve gotten good at that. Staying even when nothing else is. My phone buzzed. Once. Then again. I already knew before I looked. Private Number. I stared at it for a second longer than I should have. Then I answered. “Hello”. A pause. Then a voice — calm, controlled, “Miss Roselle.” I closed my eyes briefly. “Yes,” I replied. “We’ve sent multiple reminders regarding your probation agreement.” There it was. probation. Like I was something that needed monitoring. “I’m aware,” I said quietly. “And yet there’s been no update on your repayment plan.” I turned away from the table, walking slowly toward the counter. “I’m working on it,” I said. A pause. Too quiet. Like they were deciding whether I was worth believing. “Miss Roselle,” the voice continued, “the terms are not flexible.” I almost laughed. Ofcourse,it was not funny. But,what else was I supposed to do with that kind of sentence? “I understand,” I said again. My voice didn’t shake. That was the only thing I still liked about myself. It never shook. “You have until the end of the month,” the voice said. Then the call ended. Just like that. No softness. No hesitation. I lowered my phone slowly. End of the month. As if time was something I still controlled. As if I wasn’t already running out of it. I leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. A soft laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to fix anymore,” I murmured. My reflection caught my eye in the microwave door. I paused. Sometimes I forget what I look like when I’m not pretending to be fine. Soft features. Calm eyes that look like they understand more than they should. Skin too clear for someone who barely sleeps properly. A body that people notice before they even hear what I’m going through. I’ve always known I’m not invisible. That’s never been my problem. My problem is that people see me and assume everything is okay. It’s not. My phone buzzed again. This time, I answered without hesitation. “Mum.” Her voice came instantly, softer than the others. “Roselle.” Just hearing her say my name made my chest tighten in a different way. “I’ve been calling you,” she said. “I know,” I replied. “I was busy.” Silence. She didn’t believe me. She never fully did. But she also never pushed too hard. That was my mother. Always hearing what I didn’t say. “Are you eating properly?” she asked. “Yes.” A lie. But a comfortable one. “You sound tired,” she said gently. I leaned my head back slightly. “I’m fine.” That word again. It’s starting to feel like a language I no longer understand but keep repeating anyway. “I’ll send something this week,” she added. “No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. Silence. Then softer, “I’m handling it.” Another pause. Then she said it. “You’ve been handling it for a long time.” I didn’t answer. Because what was I supposed to say? That I was trying? That trying doesn’t always change anything? That sometimes independence just means learning how to bleed quietly? “I have to go,” I said instead. “Rose—” But I ended the call. Because if I didn’t, I might say something I couldn’t take back. The apartment felt heavier after that. I stayed still for a moment, phone resting in my hand. Then I placed it down carefully. Like it mattered more than I wanted it to. And I walked back to the window. The rain hadn’t stopped. It had only gotten worse. I watched it fall, thinking nothing at first. Or maybe thinking too much and refusing to admit it. I pressed my fingers lightly against my arm, grounding myself. “I can handle this,” I whispered. The words sounded real enough. But belief? Belief didn’t always come when you needed it. My gaze drifted downward. The street was quiet. Then I saw it. A car. Black. Smooth. Expensive in a way that didn’t try to prove anything. It didn’t belong here. It didn’t belong in weather like this. It slowed. Then stopped. Right in front of my building. And stayed there. My fingers tightened slightly against my arm. I didn’t know why I was suddenly more aware of my breathing. But I was. And for the first time that day… the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt like something was waiting.