Chapter 13: Recovering Evidences
1140 Words
The sea was hushed under the fading night as the dinghy approached the island, slicing through the water like a whispered secret.
Vanna sat at the bow, her face unreadable. The island rose before her—dark, still, and cloaked in early dawn fog. It felt both distant and dangerously close, like a memory she wasn’t ready to face.
“You remember the plan?” Lowei asked quietly as he steered toward the secluded cove.
“I go alone,” Vanna replied. “You two stay with the yacht. I won’t be long.”
Lea reached for her wrist. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’re coming after you.”
“No,” Vanna said, gently pulling away. “If I’m not back, you leave. Got it?”
They didn’t answer. She didn’t wait.
Vanna leapt onto the wet sand and climbed the slope toward the back of the villa, moving with urgency and caution. She had always used the garden path—a shortcut tucked behind thick trees, one that led straight to the guest patio.
The door creaked open under her hand.
Inside, the air was heavy with salt and silence. The house had been untouched—but it pulsed with something unseen. A warning, maybe.
She moved quickly to the guest room. Her things were still there—shoes in the corner, clothes in the wardrobe, her journal in the drawer. She shoved them into her duffel, her breath tight in her chest.
Then she saw it.
A folded paper. Left squarely on the nightstand.
Familiar handwriting. Sharp strokes. Her stomach dropped.
She picked it up, hands trembling, and unfolded it slowly.
“You were never careful.”
The words hit her like a slap. Cold. Calculated. Gavin’s.
And then—
A sound.
Floorboards behind her.
She froze.
A shadow moved in the mirror’s reflection.
Before she could turn—
“I knew you’d come back.”
His voice—low, close, terrifyingly calm.
Vanna spun around.
Gavin stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dark with something unreadable.
Her fingers crumpled the note.
“How long have you been here?” she demanded.
“Long enough,” he said. “Long enough to know you’re still lying—to everyone, and especially to yourself.”
Her pulse pounded.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, backing toward the window.
“And yet, here you are,” he replied. “Still hiding. Still pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That you didn’t love it,” he whispered. “The games. The secrets. Him.”
She clutched the bag tighter.
“I came to take what’s mine,” she said. “And then I’m gone.”
Gavin stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “No one walks away clean, Vanna. Not you. Not this time.”
Gavin took another step forward, closing the gap between them.
“I warned you,” he said, voice low, almost venomous. “You thought you could rewrite the truth? Parade around like some innocent victim?”
Vanna didn’t flinch. Not this time.
“I survived without you,” she said coldly. “You don’t scare me anymore.”
He smiled—a crooked, dangerous grin. “Oh, Vanna. You don’t need to be afraid of me. You should be afraid of what I can do.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out his phone, waving it casually.
“You see, all it takes is one message—one leak. A photo of what’s still in this villa, a whisper to the right editor, and your little redemption arc? Gone.”
Vanna's heart pounded, but her expression held.
“You think I came unprepared?” she said, her voice cutting like ice.
Gavin tilted his head, amused.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black recorder. She tapped it once, letting the soft beep confirm it had been running since the moment she stepped into the house.
His face darkened.
“I’ve got every word you just said, Gavin,” she said. “Your threats. Your attempt to blackmail me. This house isn’t yours anymore. This story? It doesn’t belong to you.”
He moved toward her fast, hand outstretched to grab the recorder—but she was quicker.
She hurled the duffel through the open window, then launched herself after it, landing hard on the grass below. Pain shot through her knee, but adrenaline took over.
Vanna leapt through the window, her heart pounding, the wind biting her cheeks. She was almost free. Almost.
Behind her, Gavin followed—his body crashing through the frame with less grace, more desperation.
Then she heard it.
A sharp, guttural cry.
She paused. Her breath caught.
She turned. Gavin was on the ground, twisted in pain, clutching his leg. He hadn’t landed well.
She hesitated—freedom just steps away. But something pulled at her.
And she ran back.
But instead of turning back to Gavin, Vanna ran—her legs moving before her thoughts could catch up.
She had to find the old caretaker to help Gavin.
She searched every corner of the villa grounds, calling out softly, desperately.
No answer. No shadow. No sign.
Heart sinking, she slipped inside the dim kitchen. The fridge hummed quietly in the silence. A small note was pinned to it with a magnet shaped like a pineapple.
“Sorry, young master. My family had an emergency. I’ll return as soon as it’s done.”
No name. No number. Just that.
Vanna scratched her head, breathing hard.
She wasn’t trapped by Gavin anymore.
She was trapped by her own conscience
Vanna stood there, staring at the note. Her fingers curled around the edge of the fridge door, her breath shallow.
She could leave.
She could run and never look back.
But the image of Gavin’s cry—the way his body twisted in pain, the sound that escaped his throat—kept replaying in her mind like a broken loop.
He wasn’t chasing her now. He wasn’t threatening. He was hurt.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.
Her legs moved again—this time, not out of fear, but guilt.
She retraced her steps, out the door, past the hedges, back toward the shattered window. The garden was quiet except for the hum of cicadas.
And there he was.
Gavin lay in the grass, his face pale, jaw clenched. When he saw her, his eyes flared with surprise, then confusion.
“You came back,” he rasped.
She knelt beside him, torn between anger and concern. “Don’t read too much into it,” she said, checking his leg. “You fell like an idiot.”
He gave a weak laugh, wincing. “Still… You came back.”
She sighed. “Yeah, well… don't make me regret it.”
- Writer
