Page 109 of Sinful Desires
The Protector
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”
? E.A. Bucchianeri
Scarlett
26 years old
Present time
“Your tits look insane in this. Total ‘fuck me, fuck you’ energy. Iconic.”
I breathed out thinly, tension wired into my jaw. “Well, iconic is kind of my thing, Vic. That and mandatory rehab, apparently.”
The words came out smoothly. Practiced. Sharp enough to keep distance between me and whatever pity was waiting behind her eyes.
Victoria sighed softly and looped her arm through mine. Her touch was steady. Mine wasn’t.
We took our heels off, stepping onto the white carpet rolled across the sand, a clean path cutting through the over-decoratedmess some called a party. We turned our backs to the ocean, the water dark and restless, moving like it was breathing. Ahead, a crush of strangers waited with perfect smiles and empty eyes.
Music throbbed beneath my ribs. Flashbulbs burst in my face. Someone waved. I couldn’t tell if I knew them. I looked away.
“Happy birthday, Scarlett!” the crowd shouted, too loudly. Fireworks split the sky. Pink and purple hearts burst above me. I kept my forced grin locked in place. My hands kept shaking.
One year.
Three hundred and sixty-five days in a high-security wellness fortress in Minnesota.
Private chefs brought me food I never touched. Soundproofed rooms let me scream without anyone hearing.
Yoga at dawn. Therapy at noon. Sedatives before dinner, tucked into crystal glasses and handed over with a smile.
I was a patient with a view. A name they couldn’t afford to lose.
Every day, I sat by the glass and watched the world move on without me. They praised me when I didn’t cry. They marked it down as strength. They gave me lavender oil for panic attacks and wrote long emails about how well I was responding.
No one had asked why I kept waking up shaking.
They never mentioned the days I wouldn’t speak. The hours I spent staring at the walls. They slipped antipsychotics under silver lids and recorded everything I said behind their soft questions.
Everything was documented. Every word, every silence. And all of it happened in rooms covered in mirrors, so I couldn’t look away from what I was becoming.
I picked at the edge of my nail until it split. Victoria was still talking about what she’d gotten me for my birthday.
It had been three weeks since they’d let me out. Three weeks, and I still woke up soaked in sweat, heart pounding, certain I was still trapped in that place.
The dreams didn’t fade. They choked me awake. White walls. Locked doors. The same voice telling me I was doing better.
Now I stood surrounded by people who clapped for the comeback while ignoring the wreckage.
I had to do everything people expected. Keep my head high. Pretend the darkness hadn’t followed me home.
Victoria leaned in, her perfume strong enough to stick in my throat. “You good?”
