Whispers of Revenge

Weston

დ Rosalie დ

The next morning, I woke before dawn, disoriented for half a second by the room around me. It took only a moment for memory to settle back into place, cold and unwelcome.

Raven Hollow.

My breathing deepened as I lay still and stared up at the ceiling. The house was quiet, but not peaceful. I could hear the pipes shifting somewhere behind the walls, and the faint rattle of wind that brushed against the windows. The old groan of wood settling into itself. Every sound felt familiar in the worst possible way.

I had slept badly.

Not only was the bed uncomfortable, but because this house still knew how to get under my skin. The memories had tormented me. I forced myself to get out of bed and cleaned up. By the time I got dressed, my mood had sharpened into something brittle. I found my mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of tea wrapped in both hands. She looked worse in the morning light. Paler. More fragile. Like the night had taken another piece of her while I slept.

“You are up early,” she murmured. I ignored the comment and headed straight for the fridge. I already knew there was nothing.

“We need groceries,” I muttered as I glanced at her over my shoulder. Her eyes flicked toward the fridge, then back to me.

“You don’t have to do that,”

“Yes, I do,” what I didn’t say was that I would be staying, and therefore, we needed food. I also didn’t point out that she needed food. Sustenance. Instead, I shut the fridge door and faced her. “I just don’t get it…all the money I have sent over the years…what did you do with it?”

“Rosalie…” she didn’t say anything more, but it wasn’t necessary. I knew she wouldn’t. Not that it mattered. I would find out eventually. I didn’t say another word as I grabbed my purse and keys. As soon as I stepped outside, I felt as if I could breathe again. I shook off the feeling and headed into town. A town that looked almost peaceful in the gray morning light.

Almost.

I drove to the grocery store on the edge of town, and the closer I got, the more aware I became of my own body. My shoulders were too tight. My grip on the steering wheel was too firm. Even walking through the parking lot had me on edge. The sliding doors opened when I approached, and I hated the low, ugly feeling that crawled beneath my skin. I hated everything about this town. The smell of produce, cardboard, and detergent hit me as I stepped inside. A cart rattled somewhere behind me, and I heard a woman laugh from somewhere inside. None of it should have mattered, but my nerves were stretched thin enough that every sound landed too sharply.

I reached for a trolley and started down the first aisle.

Bread. Milk. Eggs. Coffee. Soup. Cleaning supplies. Fresh fruit. Things my mother should have already had. Things she should never have been without. By the time I reached the middle of the store, my trolley was half full, and my irritation had settled into a colder kind of focus. I was already running through bills, repairs, and quiet ways to start digging without warning my mother first. I turned into the next aisle and nearly stopped walking. A man stood near the shelves ahead of me, broad-shouldered and careless, one hand resting on the handle of his basket. He was taller now. Heavier through the chest. Rougher in the face. But I knew him instantly.

Weston Graves.

For a second, the entire store seemed to tilt. Not a flashback. Not exactly. Just impact. My body went cold first. Then hot. My fingers tightened around the trolley handle so hard they hurt. The fluorescent lights above me buzzed too loudly. My heartbeat slammed once, hard enough to make me feel it in my throat. He turned, and his gaze landed on me. But there was nothing there. No recognition. No hesitation. No shadow of memory. In fact, all I could see in his eyes was curiosity. He looked at me the way a man looked at a woman he found attractive. Slow. Casual. Appraising.

It hit harder than seeing him ever could have.

Whatever had ruined me had not stayed with him long enough to matter. A grin pulled at his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled out the word slowly. “Aren’t you a sight first thing in the morning?” my stomach turned. I should have walked away immediately. I knew that. But my feet stayed planted for one second too long, and that was enough for him to come closer. He glanced at my half-filled trolley. “Let me guess. New in town?” my throat felt tight as I forced myself to say something.

“Move,” I snapped. Weston’s eyes went wide, but he laughed softly. As if I had amused him or something.

“Damn. Pretty and unfriendly,” he took another step closer. He was too close, and the aisle suddenly felt too small. The shelves higher and the bright store lights were harsher. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne under the detergent and stale air. It made my skin prickle.

“I said move,” I repeated, but instead of listening, he leaned one arm against the shelf beside me, blocking part of the aisle with his body. Casual. Confident. Like he had every right.

“Come on,” he said. “You can do better than that,” then he surprised me as he reached out and let his fingers brush my arm. It was a casual touch. Light. Thoughtless. And yet, something inside of me cracked wide open. I jerked back so hard the trolley wheels squealed against the floor. My breath caught somewhere sharp and ugly in my chest. For half a second, I couldn’t hear anything except the rush of blood in my ears. His expression changed slightly. Not concern. Surprise. He still didn’t know. He still had no idea. I stared at him, and for one wild second, I wanted to say it. I wanted to throw my name in his face and watch the recognition hit. I wanted to see if he would flinch. If he would remember the cabin. The ropes. The fear. The humiliation. The way my life had split open and never fit right again.

But I couldn’t do it there.

Not like that. Not while he stood in front of me smiling as though he had every right to touch me. So, I forced my voice flat and cold.

“Don’t touch me again,” something in my face must have reached him then, because the grin he wore faded a little. He lifted his hand and stepped back.

“All right,” he said. No apology. Not even shame. Only mild annoyance, like I had overreacted to something he deemed harmless. That was the worst part. To him, it was harmless. I pushed the trolley past him, hard enough that it clipped his basket. He muttered something under his breath, but I kept walking. My legs felt unsteady, my skin too tight, my lungs slow to work properly. I turned the corner into the next aisle and stopped only when I was out of sight. Then I stood there gripping the handle while I shook with quiet fury. He didn’t know me. He didn’t remember me. He had left his mark on me, but apparently, I hadn’t done the same for him. I looked down at the groceries in my trolley. Bread. Soup. Fruit. Milk. Ordinary things. My reflection stared back at me from the freezer doors across the aisle, sharp and controlled and pale. Something changed inside me then. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just with a cold kind of certainty. For years, revenge had lived in the back of my mind like an old fire. Useful. Private. Contained. But Weston had just looked me in the face and treated me like I was nothing.

Again.

Only this time, I wasn’t sixteen.

And I wasn’t leaving Raven Hollow without making him remember.

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