Chapter 7 - The Truth About Daniel's Disappearance
I turned around.
Slowly.
Because every part of me already knew what I would see.
The room behind me was empty.
The chair.
The couch.
The hallway.
Nothing.
No person.
No movement.
But the message was still there.
"He's standing behind you."
My hands started shaking.
Michael stepped closer.
"Claire."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because I knew what scared me most wasn't the possibility that someone was inside my apartment.
It was the fact that someone wanted me to believe they were.
Michael took my phone.
He examined the photo carefully.
"This was taken from the hallway."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"The angle."
He pointed.
"The person was standing near your bedroom door."
My chest tightened.
"That's impossible."
Michael looked toward the hallway.
"Why?"
"Because my bedroom door was closed."
He didn't say anything.
That silence made my stomach drop.
"Michael."
He looked back at me.
"What?"
"My bedroom door..."
I swallowed.
"When I left earlier, it was open."
Michael's face changed.
"Claire."
"What?"
"Look."
I followed his eyes.
The bedroom door.
It was closed.
I hadn't noticed.
Because I was focused on the picture.
On the message.
On fear.
But now I saw it.
The door was slightly open.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Like someone had pushed it and stopped.
Michael moved in front of me.
"Stay here."
"No."
"Claire."
"No."
I stepped beside him.
"I am done waiting for people to tell me what is happening."
He looked at me.
And for a second, I saw something different.
Not suspicion.
Not pity.
Respect.
We walked toward the bedroom.
Every step felt louder than it should.
Michael reached for the door.
He stopped.
I looked at him.
"What?"
He pointed down.
A small piece of paper was lying on the floor.
Not inside the room.
Outside.
Like someone had placed it there before leaving.
Michael picked it up.
My name was written on it.
Again.
Claire Bennett.
I opened it.
Only one sentence.
"Your husband tried to protect you."
I stared.
Michael looked at the note.
Then another line appeared underneath.
Not printed.
Handwritten.
"Ask him why."
I looked at Michael.
"What does this mean?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Or because he didn't want to.
I couldn't tell anymore.
Then my phone rang.
This time, I recognized the number.
Rachel.
I answered immediately.
"Rachel?"
For several seconds, there was silence.
Then I heard her crying.
Not fake crying.
Not the kind people use when they want forgiveness.
Real fear.
"Claire..."
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"Because if they know I'm talking to you, I'm dead."
My heart stopped.
Michael moved closer.
"Put it on speaker."
I did.
Rachel continued.
"Claire, I need you to listen carefully."
"Okay."
"Daniel didn't leave me."
I froze.
"What?"
"He ran."
My eyebrows tightened.
"What are you talking about?"
Rachel's voice cracked.
"The airport photo."
She took a shaky breath.
"It wasn't what you thought."
I looked at Michael.
"What does that mean?"
"Daniel wasn't smiling because he was happy."
Silence.
"He was smiling because someone was watching."
My skin turned cold.
"Who?"
Rachel didn't answer.
Then she whispered:
"The same person who has been controlling everything."
Michael stepped closer.
"Rachel, tell us who."
Another pause.
Then:
"I don't know his name."
My heart sank.
"But Daniel did."
I grabbed the phone.
"Where is Daniel?"
Rachel became quiet.
Too quiet.
"Rachel."
Finally, she spoke.
"He disappeared."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"The night we left."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You left together."
"No."
Her voice broke.
"We left separately."
I looked at Michael.
Neither of us moved.
"Then why did I see you together at the airport?"
"Because we were told to be there."
"By who?"
Rachel started crying again.
"I don't know."
The call suddenly became distorted.
Then Rachel whispered:
"Claire, Daniel wasn't running away from you."
I held my breath.
"He was running away from the person who owns your father's company."
The line went dead.
I looked at Michael.
"My father's company?"
He looked terrified.
Not surprised.
Terrified.
"You knew."
His eyes moved away.
"Michael."
"I suspected."
"You suspected?"
I stepped closer.
"You knew my father was involved."
"I knew his name appeared in the records."
"And you still let me walk into this?"
"I was trying to protect you."
I laughed.
A painful laugh.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
Michael looked hurt.
But I didn't stop.
"Daniel said it."
"Rachel said it."
"You said it."
I shook my head.
"But somehow, every person protecting me is the person hiding the truth."
The apartment became silent.
Then Michael said something quietly.
"Your father isn't the person behind this."
I looked at him.
"Then who is?"
Before he could answer, the lights went out.
The entire apartment went dark.
I froze.
Michael immediately reached for his phone.
"Stay close."
I whispered:
"Michael."
"What?"
"Someone is here."
We heard it.
A sound from the hallway.
A footstep.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone wasn't trying to hide.
They wanted us to know they were there.
Michael moved toward the entrance.
I grabbed his arm.
"Don't."
He looked at me.
"Claire."
Then his phone flashlight turned toward the door.
The lock was moving.
Someone was unlocking it.
From the outside.
I held my breath.
The door opened slowly.
But nobody entered.
Only a small envelope slid across the floor.
Then the door closed.
Michael picked it up.
"No."
I looked at him.
"What?"
His face had lost all color.
"What is it?"
He turned the envelope around.
There was a name written on it.
Not mine.
Not Daniel's.
Not Rachel's.
It was his.
MICHAEL MORGAN.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A photograph of Michael.
Standing beside Daniel.
Six months before we met.
I stared at the picture.
Because behind them was a third person.
Someone I recognized.
Someone I never expected to see.
Michael looked at me and whispered:
"Claire..."
Then my phone received a new message.
A video file.
The title was:
"THE DAY MICHAEL FOUND YOU."
May you like
I pressed play.
And the first image on the screen showed Michael watching me from across the street... six months before Daniel ever left.
