He Deserved It

CHAPTER 27 – Savannah Slips

By 10:07 a.m., Savannah had color-coded her closet like her future depended on it.

Blazers faded from charcoal to pearl. Sweaters were folded into neat squares, stacked like pastries in a boutique bakery window. Three pairs of identical nude pumps waited in a perfect row—heels aligned, toes pointing forward, as if they might walk out on their own if she left them too long.

She stepped back. Crossed her arms. Inhaled the crisp scent of lavender linen spray.

It was flawless. Polished. The kind of closet that belonged in an alumni magazine someday under the headline: Future Senator Organizes Her Life Into Victory.

And yet… her skin felt too tight, like she’d zipped herself into someone else’s suit.

Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. So why did she feel like she wasn’t?

She stood there, willing the unease to dissolve into color gradients and lavender neatness.

Order. Control. That’s the plan. Always the plan.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser.

Alex: Hey. You good? That thing you told me about your ex is… insane.

Savannah stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen. She wasn’t supposed to be talking about Jordan anymore. That was the rule. Her rule.

Except… rules felt useless lately.

She picked up the phone anyway. Hit call.

Alex answered on the second ring, his voice warm but distracted.

“Hey, Sav. Everything okay?”

She hesitated, twisting the edge of her sleeve between her fingers.

“I… I think someone’s messing with me.”

A rustle on his end, like he was shifting on his couch.

“Okay… who?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed. “I got a notification. An old account liked my Story. Jordan’s old account.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, almost like he thought she was joking.

“Wait, that Jordan? The ex? Sav, he’s… y’know.”

“Missing. I know.”

“You sure it wasn’t a bot or something?”

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her.

“No. It was his account. The handle. The old profile picture. It popped up, and then it was gone. Like it was never there.”

Alex was quiet for a beat. Then:

“Well… maybe someone hacked it. People do that, right? Steal dead people’s accounts and try to scam folks?”

“Except nobody knows about that account except me.” Her voice trembled. “It was private. I was the only one following it.”

“Okay, well… maybe the app glitched.”

Savannah let out a sharp breath, pacing across her bedroom floor. Her hair was curled perfectly, even though she hadn’t left the house in two days.

“You don’t get it, Alex. What if it was him? Or… what if someone’s trying to tell me they know something?”

Alex made a low, uncertain sound.

“Know what?”

“Stuff. About that night.”

“Savannah…”

“Don’t ‘Savannah’ me.” Her voice was getting higher. “If someone’s in his account, it means they know things. Things he and I… talked about. Things that could look bad if people found out.”

“Like what?”

“Like… like how mad I was. About everything. About how he used me. And how I said…”

She trailed off, staring at the window, her breath fogging the glass.

Alex’s voice sharpened.

“Said what?”

“Nothing.”

“Sav.”

“Just… stuff people say when they’re hurt.”

“Like what, Sav?”

“I don’t know. That I wanted him gone.”

Alex went completely silent.

“I didn’t mean it, Alex. People say stuff. It doesn’t mean they do anything.”

“Okay… but… did you?”

Savannah spun toward the mirror, catching her own pale reflection.

“Of course not. Jesus. What, you think I killed him?”

“No. I’m just… I’m just trying to understand why you’re freaking out.”

“Because someone is trying to make me look guilty, that’s why. Or maybe he’s not dead at all. Maybe he’s out there, laughing, waiting for me to slip up.”

Alex blew out a slow breath.

“Sav… you’re scaring me a little.”

“Good. You should be scared. Because if he comes back, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Alex cleared his throat.

“I’m… gonna call you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

He hung up before she could say anything else.

Savannah stared at the phone. Then turned it off and dropped it onto the bed like it might bite her.

She lay there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling. Counted her breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

But her brain wouldn’t stop spinning. Not about Jordan. Not about the message. Not about how fast one crack could split the perfect façade she’d built.

⋆⸻⸻⋆

Hours later, she couldn’t stand her own room another second. Savannah padded downstairs for a glass of water. The house was dim and echoing, shadows stretching over the tiled floor.

Halfway to the kitchen, she heard her parents’ voices—low, overlapping like static.

Her mother’s tone was sharp, edged with fear disguised as irritation.

“She’s not sleeping, Walter. She’s jumpy. She’s… off.”

Her father’s voice came low and patient, like a man tiptoeing through a minefield.

“She’s been through a lot. Let her breathe.”

“I know. But… what if there’s more to it? She’s not telling us everything. You know how it looked last time. The press. Your career. We can’t afford another—scandal.”

Savannah froze in the hallway, pulse thudding. The tile felt cold under her bare feet.

Her dad sighed. “Deidra, she didn’t do anything.”

“I’m not saying she did. But people might think she did. And that’s enough to ruin everything.”

Savannah pressed her hand against the wall, fingers splayed, feeling the cool paint beneath her palm.

Of course Mom’s worried about the headlines. About who’d whisper my name at the next fundraiser. About who’d pretend sympathy and then call me reckless behind my back.

Her mother’s voice trembled. “Maybe… maybe she needs help. Therapy. Or something.”

“We will,” her dad said gently. “When she’s ready.”

When I’m ready. Like this is some phase I’ll snap out of if I just buy enough lavender candles.

She took a silent breath, retreated carefully into the dark, and crept back upstairs. The water could wait.

In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, ankles crossed. She picked up her phone and scrolled back to prom night.

Four girls in bright dresses, frozen mid-laugh. Glitter catching the flash. Lip gloss shining like patent leather. Smiles that could’ve fooled anyone who didn’t know better.

Savannah zoomed in on her own face. Perfect curls. Soft pink lipstick. A smile so practiced it belonged on a business card.

She stared into her own eyes.

God, I look so convincing. Like I believed every lie coming out of my mouth.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button.

She couldn’t bring herself to tap it. Because erasing the photo wouldn’t erase what had happened.

She dropped the phone into her lap. Closed her eyes.

The worst part is… I don’t even know if I’m lying anymore. Or if I’ve rehearsed so long that I believe it.

She stayed like that for a long time. Letting the silence crowd in around her.

Eventually, she crawled under her covers. Pulled the blanket over her head. Tried to pretend the dark might shut it all out.

It didn’t.

Hours later, her phone buzzed in the dark.

Savannah grabbed it, screen casting harsh blue light across her sheets.

Unknown number. No photo. No name.

I know what you did.

Savannah blinked once. Twice.

Cool. Vague threats from faceless strangers. Love that for me.

She read it again. Felt her pulse spike anyway.

Could be some troll. Could be a bored kid from school. Could be him. Hell, it could be anyone.

She didn’t delete it. Didn’t reply either.

Instead, she set the phone down gently, like it might explode if she moved too fast.

She stared up at the ceiling, breath trapped high in her chest.

And finally, barely above a whisper, she said:

“I didn’t do anything.”

But even as the words slipped out, they felt thin. Like paper trying to hold back a flood.