The Uninvited Guest
1492 Words
Shammah sat in a small café in Winterclan, nursing a cup of hot tea. The afternoon sun poured through the window, warming her face. She had made it back from Chevron City in one piece. The divorce was done. She was officially free.
A woman at the next table laughed loudly, and Shammah looked up. The woman was with her friends, celebrating something. A birthday, maybe, or a promotion. They looked happy.
Shammah wondered if she would ever feel that way again.
She opened her phone and scrolled through social media, something she rarely did. But today, she felt restless, she needed a distraction.
A notification popped up. Her old college friend, Maya, had tagged her in a post from two years ago. It was a photo of Shammah at a medical conference, smiling, holding a certificate. The caption read: Throwing it back to when my brilliant friend Shammah graduated top of her class! Wherever you are now, I hope you're conquering the world.
Shammah stared at the photo. That girl looked so different. So hopeful. So full of dreams.
Without thinking, Shammah opened her camera and took a selfie. She was sitting by the window, the sunlight making her brown eyes look warm. Her hair was loose now, falling around her shoulders. She looked tired, but strong. Like someone who had survived a war.
She typed a caption: Starting over. One step at a time.
She posted it.
Three seconds later, the first like came in. Then another. Then five more.
Shammah smiled a little. Maybe the world hadn't forgotten her after all.
Back in Chevron City, at the Khai mansion, Margaret stood in the grand hallway, her face twisted with fury. She was yelling at two housekeepers who stood with their heads down, trembling.
"How dare you speak about my family to outsiders!" Margaret's voice echoed off the marble walls. "Do you know what happens to people who betray the Khai name?"
One of the housekeepers, a young woman named Clara, sniffled. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean…"
"You didn't mean what? To gossip about my son's divorce? To tell the entire staff that he's been miserable since that girl left?"
Clara's eyes widened. "I never said that"
"Don't lie to me!" Margaret stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "I heard you in the kitchen this morning. You said, and I quote, 'Mr. David hasn't been the same since Miss Shammah left. He barely eats, he doesn't sleep, he just sits in his office staring at nothing.'"
Clara's face went pale. "I was just worried about him, ma'am."
"You don't get to worry about him," Margaret hissed. "You're the help. You do your job and keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now get out of my sight."
The two housekeepers hurried away, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
Margaret stood alone, breathing hard. Her hands were shaking. She hated this. Hated how everything was falling apart.
The divorce was supposed to fix things. Shammah was supposed to disappear and be forgotten.
In his office, David sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. He had work to do. contracts to review, meetings to schedule, but he couldn't focus.
His mind kept drifting back to the law office. To Shammah's face. To the way she looked at him like he was a stranger.
Somewhere you'll never find me.
He opened a new browser tab and, without really thinking about it, typed her name into the search bar.
Shammah Rowland.
A few old articles popped up, college graduation announcements, a scholarship award, but nothing recent.
Then he switched to social media.
He found her profile. It was mostly empty. No posts. No photos. Just a blank page.
Until today.
David's heart stopped.
There, posted twenty minutes ago, was a photo of Shammah.
She was sitting in a café by a window, sunlight pouring over her face. She looked... beautiful. Not in the polished, made-up way Ivy always looked, but in a real, raw, human way.
Her caption read: Starting over. One step at a time.
David stared at the photo for a long time.
She looked free. Happy, even.
She looked like someone who had left him behind and never looked back.
His chest tightened.
He didn't realize his hand was reaching for his phone until it was already dialing her number.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then it went to voicemail.
You've reached Shammah. I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message.
David opened his mouth, but no words came out. What could he possibly say?
He hung up.
Then he opened a text message instead.
Are you okay?
He stared at the words. His finger hovered over the send button.
But before he could press it, his office door burst open.
Ivy stepped inside and locked it behind her with a soft click.
She was wearing the same white dress from earlier, but she had let her hair down. It fell in dark waves over her shoulders. Her red lips curved into a slow smile.
"You've been avoiding me all day," she said, walking toward his desk. Her heels clicked softly against the floor. "And I know why."
David quickly closed his phone and set it face-down on the desk. "Ivy, I'm working"
"No, you're not." She walked around his desk, her fingers trailing along the edge. "You're thinking about her. About that pathetic little girl who just signed you away without a second thought."
"Don't call her that."
Ivy stopped right in front of him. She leaned against the desk, looking down at him. "Then what should I call her, David? The woman who walked away from you? The woman who didn't even fight for you?"
David's jaw tightened. "She had nothing to fight for."
"Exactly." Ivy reached out and loosened his tie slowly, her fingers brushing against his collar. "She never wanted you. Not really. But I do."
David's breath caught. He should stop her. He should tell her to leave. But he didn't move.
Ivy leaned closer, her lips almost touching his ear. "I've waited for you for years, David. Years. While you played house with her, I stayed, and now she's gone, and it's finally our time."
She kissed him then, slow, deep, demanding. Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer.
David hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then something inside him gave way.
He pulled her onto his lap, his hands gripping her waist. She gasped against his mouth, her fingers working to unbutton his shirt.
The city lights glowed through the window. The phone on his desk buzzed once, a notification, but neither of them heard it.
Time blurred. The desk. The couch. Her dress sliding to the floor. His shirt discarded somewhere in the dark.
For the next hour, David forgot everything. He forgot the divorce. He forgot the law office. He forgot the way Shammah had looked at him like he was nothing.
He forgot her completely.
Later, the office was quiet. Ivy lay on the leather couch, her hair tangled, her lipstick smudged. She watched David with satisfied eyes.
David sat at his desk again, buttoning his shirt, his breathing still uneven. His mind felt foggy. Empty.
Ivy stood and smoothed down her dress. She walked over to him and kissed the top of his head. "Feel better?" she purred.
David didn't answer.
She picked up his phone from the desk and glanced at the screen. Her smile widened. "Oh, look. Shammah blocked you on social media."
David's head snapped up. "What?"
Ivy showed him the notification. Shammah Rowland has blocked you.
Something cold settled in David's chest.
Ivy tossed the phone back onto the desk. "See? She's already moving on. Forgetting about you. So why are you wasting time thinking about her?"
She leaned down and kissed him again, softer this time. "You have me, David. Isn't that enough?"
David looked at Ivy, beautiful, perfect, willing. Everything he thought he wanted.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It's enough."
Ivy smiled, kissed him one more time, and left the office, her heels clicking down the hallway.
David sat alone in the dark.
His unsent text to Shammah still glowed on his phone screen: Are you okay?
He deleted it.
She was gone, and maybe that was for the best.
He had Ivy. That should be enough.
It had to be.
Meanwhile, in Winterclan, Shammah walked back to her tiny room above the bookshop. She climbed the stairs slowly, her hand on her stomach.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Everything looked normal. The bed. The desk. The small window overlooking the street.
But something felt wrong.
Shammah froze.
On her pillow, placed carefully in the center, was a single white envelope.
Her name was written on the front in elegant handwriting.
Shammah's blood ran cold.
She hadn't left that there.
And her door had been locked.
Someone had been inside her room.
- Writer
