The coffee has long gone cold by the time I stop staring at it.
I haven’t touched the breakfast tray. Not because I’m not hungry—I am—but because every bite would taste like surrender. Like acceptance. Like giving Dario exactly what he wants.
And I still don’t know what the hell that is.
I sit alone at the marble island, the silence so thick it hums in my ears. Time doesn’t feel real here. I’ve lost track of the hours, the days. There are no clocks on the walls. No TV. No background noise. Just stillness and walls that don’t echo.
Like this house was built to swallow sound. And people.
My mind keeps circling the same question, over and over.
Why me?
There’s nothing special about me. I’m nineteen. A waitress. I work double shifts, pay bills late, and fall asleep to the sound of siren
