CHAPTER THREE:FRACTURES
1074 Words
Everything looked the same—the city streets, the café on the corner, the familiar faces at
work—but nothing felt anchored anymore. It was as if the contract had lifted me out of my life
and set me down somewhere just slightly off-center, where every step felt wrong.
I sat at my desk pretending to work, my computer screen glowing with spreadsheets I hadn’t
actually read. My phone lay beside my keyboard, silent but heavy with expectation. Kulture’s
message from the night before lingered in my mind like a threat.
Be ready tomorrow. You’re coming with me.
No details. No explanation.
Just command.
I told myself not to panic. Panic wouldn’t help. I had survived grief, loneliness, and years of
uncertainty. I could survive this too. At least, that’s what I repeated silently as the hours crawled
by.
By lunchtime, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I grabbed my phone and texted Cassie.
Can we meet tonight? I need you.
Her reply came a few minutes later.
Of course. Come over after work.
Relief loosened something tight in my chest.
Cassie had always been my constant—the one person who stayed when everyone else drifted
away. If anyone could help me think clearly, it was her.
The rest of the day dragged. My boss droned on in meetings I barely heard. Emails piled up
unanswered. By the time I left the office, my head throbbed with exhaustion and suppressed
emotion.
Cassie’s apartment building came into view just after seven. I parked, grabbed my bag, and
climbed the familiar stairs, my steps echoing softly in the quiet hallway.
I didn’t knock.
I never did.
I slid my key into the lock and pushed the door open.
At first, nothing seemed out of place.
Then I heard it.
Laughter.
Soft. Intimate.
My steps slowed.
The sound came from the bedroom.
A strange numbness spread through me as I moved down the short hallway, each step heavier
than the last. I told myself it was nothing. That I was overthinking. That Cassie probably had
company.
Then I reached the doorway.
Time fractured.
Cassie lay tangled in white sheets, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. Nicholas was beside
her, his bare back turned toward me. His hand rested on her waist with an intimacy that stole
the air from my lungs.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
For a moment, I couldn’t even process what I was seeing.
Then Nicholas turned.
His eyes widened in horror.
“Sloan,” he breathed. “Wait—”
Cassie sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around herself. Her expression wasn’t shocked.
It was annoyed.
“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” she said coolly.
The words sliced deeper than the scene itself.
I felt something inside me crack.
“How long?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Neither of them answered.
“How long?” I repeated, louder now.
Nicholas scrambled out of bed, grabbing his clothes. “Sloan, I can explain. It just—happened.”
Cassie scoffed. “Don’t insult her intelligence.”
I stared at her, my chest burning. “You’re my best friend.”
“And you were already halfway out of your relationship,” she shot back. “Don’t act like I stole
something solid.”
The room spun.
I laughed—a sharp, broken sound. “You knew about the contract.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
The word echoed.
“You knew,” I repeated. “And you still did this.”
She shrugged. “You’re marrying a billionaire. You’ll be fine.”
Something cold and final settled in my chest.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I turned and walked out.
The hallway blurred as tears finally spilled over. I didn’t stop moving until I reached my car. My
hands shook violently as I fumbled with the keys, my chest aching with betrayal so sharp it felt
physical.
I drove aimlessly, the city lights streaking past in meaningless patterns. My phone buzzed
repeatedly in my bag, but I ignored it. I couldn’t hear anyone else right now. I couldn’t explain
this pain without shattering completely.
By the time I got home, my eyes burned and my head throbbed.
I collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Everything I thought was safe had been an illusion.
My parents’ love.
My best friend.
My relationship.
All of it built on secrets.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, I looked.
Kulture Smith.
Pack a bag. I’m sending a car in the morning.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
I didn’t agree to that, I typed.
The response came seconds later.
You agreed the moment you read the contract.
Anger flared.
You don’t own me.
A pause.
Then:
Not yet.
The words sent a chill through me.
I dropped the phone onto the couch and closed my eyes, exhaustion finally pulling me under.
Morning came too soon.
A knock echoed through my apartment just after sunrise.
I knew before I opened the door.
A black car idled at the curb below. The driver stood straight-backed and silent, opening the rear
door the moment he saw me.
“Miss Lark,” he said respectfully. “Mr. Smith sent me.”
I hesitated only a second before stepping inside.
The car smelled like leather and quiet authority. As the city disappeared behind us, a strange
calm settled over me. I had nothing left to lose.
The drive stretched on, the scenery changing from crowded streets to open roads and finally to
towering iron gates.
They opened smoothly as we approached.
Beyond them stood the mansion.
Stone and glass. Tall. Imposing. Watching.
My heart hammered as the car came to a stop.
Kulture waited at the entrance, hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.
He opened the door himself.
“You look like someone who’s been betrayed,” he said calmly.
I met his gaze, something hard forming inside me.
“I have.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”
I frowned. “Good?”
“Nothing binds a person faster than realizing they have nowhere else to go,” he said quietly.
“Come inside, Sloan. This is where things begin.”
I stepped past him, the doors closing behind us with a final, echoing thud.
And in that moment, I understood something terrifying.
The contract hadn’t trapped me.
Loneliness had.
- Writer
