Glory stood frozen in the hallway, Cynthia's scarf still clutched to her chest, the phone at her feet. The words on the screen buzzed through her head like an old wound ripped open:
Does he know what you did while she was gone?
Her breath hitched. She glanced at the bathroom door — the sound of running water muffling David's soft humming. He had no idea. He couldn't.
She bent to pick up the phone, her fingers trembling so hard she almost dropped it again. Another buzz — another line.
Tell him before I do.
Glory's mouth went dry. Who? Who would send this? Only two people had known the truth. One was buried six feet under rose bushes in the old cemetery on Green Hollow Lane. The other was staring at herself in the hallway mirror right now.
She tried to steady her breathing. Her thumb hovered over Reply, but what could she say? Who are you?What do you want?How do you know?
Behind the door, David's voice broke through the hiss of the water. "Glory? You still out there?"
She forced her voice steady. "Yeah! Just… looking for my purse."
"Come in here instead," he called, voice warm and teasing. "The water's perfect."
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palm to her forehead. The scarf slipped from her fingers, pooling like spilled water at her feet.
Tell him before I do.
No. She couldn't. Not now. Not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be clean, beautiful — the first night they showed the world they weren't hiding anymore.
Glory shoved the phone into her purse. She picked up the scarf, folding it into her clutch like a secret, and forced her feet to move.
Inside the bedroom, warm steam curled around her like an invitation. David stood by the bathroom door, a towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping. He looked so heartbreakingly human — his crooked grin, his tired eyes. She loved him so much it felt like a bruise that never healed.
"Took you long enough." He tugged her closer by the waist. His fingertips brushed the dip of her back. "Come here."
"David…" She tried to laugh, but it sounded wrong in her mouth. "You're going to make us late."
He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. "Let them wait."
She pulled back enough to see his face — the lines of worry etched deep tonight. "Are you okay?"
His smile faltered, just for a second. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
She froze. Did he know? Could he smell the lie clinging to her perfume?
But he just traced his thumb under her eye, brushing away a smudge of mascara. "You look tired, Glo."
She forced a smile. "I'm fine. It's just— big night, right?"
He kissed her — slow at first, then deeper, hungry in a way that made her knees go soft. For a moment, her mind blanked — the message, the scarf, the ghost in the hallway mirror — all gone, washed under his mouth.
Then his phone rang.
They both jumped. David cursed under his breath. He grabbed the towel tighter around his waist, crossing to the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen made Glory's heart stop.
Unknown Number.
She grabbed his arm. "Don't answer."
He looked at her, puzzled. "Why not?"
She forced a small laugh. "It's probably one of those scam calls. We'll be late."
He frowned but let the phone buzz itself silent. "You worry too much."
You have no idea, she thought.
David wrapped his arms around her from behind, burying his face in her hair. "Come with me tonight, okay? All the way. No running off to hide in bathrooms. No ducking the cameras."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I won't run."
He kissed her shoulder. "Promise?"
She turned in his arms, pressing her forehead to his. "Promise."
The gala was already in full bloom when they arrived — chandeliers spilling gold over polished marble, music humming soft beneath the chatter. Glory clutched David's arm so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Cameras flashed when they stepped inside — a wave of whispers rolling through the crowd. Some people smiled. Some people pretended not to stare. Glory kept her chin high, her heartbeat low enough to hear the ghost whisper behind her ear: They know.
David leaned close, his breath warm at her temple. "Ignore them. Just look at me."
She did. For a while, it worked. He guided her through the crowd — polite nods, stiff smiles, the occasional handshake with someone who still wore grief like perfume. She could feel the words people swallowed when they passed: Cynthia. Widow. New girl.
Her nails bit into David's sleeve every time someone said her name too softly. Mrs. Uzo. Mrs. Uzo. Once it was Cynthia's. Now it was hers. But did it ever fit?
They reached the bar at the far end of the hall. David ordered her a glass of champagne. Glory tried not to flinch when the bartender raised an eyebrow at her left hand — the diamond that used to be Cynthia's catching the light.
"You okay?" David asked when the bartender walked away.
She forced a bright smile. "Perfect."
"Liar," he teased. But his eyes weren't teasing. They were searching her again, like he could see the truth poking through her dress seams.
Before she could answer, her purse buzzed. Once. Twice.
She pretended to rummage for her lipstick, flicking her phone out just enough to read the message. Same number.
Ask him about the night she left. The ring. The garden.
Glory's pulse thundered in her ears. She looked up — David was watching her, glass halfway to his lips.
"You good?" he asked.
She swallowed. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. "Yeah. Just… I need the bathroom."
She fled before he could follow.
Inside the marble restroom, the music faded behind thick doors. She pressed her palms to the sink, staring at herself under harsh lights.
The night she left. The ring. The garden.
She knew what it meant. She'd buried it with the rest. But someone — who? — was peeling it back.
Her phone buzzed again. Same number.
You think he won't find out? The garden keeps secrets. Not forever.
Her chest tightened. She sank onto the edge of the marble counter, staring at the floor tiles.
A memory bloomed, bright and ugly — Cynthia's voice echoing in the garden three years ago. The fight. The last words. The promise Glory had made to keep David from breaking.
Tell him before I do.
A knock at the door made her jump.
"Glory?" David's voice, muffled but close. "You okay?"
She scrambled up, splashing cold water on her face. "Coming!"
When she opened the door, David studied her — eyes dark, jaw tense.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She tried to laugh. "Too much champagne, that's all."
He didn't look convinced. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't disappear on me again."
"I won't," she whispered.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Let's get out of here. I hate this place."
"David—"
But before she could protest, his phone buzzed. They both froze. Unknown Number. He looked at her, then at the screen, then back at her.
"Who keeps calling?" he asked.
Her voice cracked. "I don't know."
He clicked Answer. She grabbed his wrist, but it was too late.
"Hello?" His voice was low, guarded.
A pause. A voice on the other end — distorted, soft.
"Ask her what really happened that night."
David's eyes snapped to Glory's. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt. He didn't say a word — he just ended the call, lowering the phone slowly.
"Who was that?" he asked, voice too calm.
She tried to speak, but the words stuck. While she was gone. The truth coiled behind her teeth like poison.
David stepped closer, his breath warm but his eyes cold. "Glory… what night? What happened?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing—"
He grabbed her hand — not rough, but not gentle either. "Don't lie to me."
A waiter drifted too close, pretending not to hear. The music swelled around them, drowning her heartbeat.
"David, please—"
His voice was a whisper now, but sharper than a knife. "Did you know? About the garden? About the ring?"
Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
His phone buzzed again. They both jumped. He lifted it — the same number. One new message.
He read it. His eyes flicked up to hers, wide with something she hadn't seen in him in a long time — fear.
"Glory," he breathed. "What did you do?"