Twisted Control

The past has claws. It doesn't just whisper—it drags, sinking into the present, blurring the lines between what was and what is.
That's why when my phone vibrates again, I freeze.

The air in my apartment feels thick and heavy. The morning light filters weakly through the blinds, but it doesn't chase away the feeling creeping up my spine. I don't want to look.

I do anyway. Unknown Caller. My breath catches. It could be anyone. It could be nothing. Or it could be him. I let it ring, let it go to voicemail. My heart is a hammer against my ribs, my fingers twitching at my sides. I tell myself it's over. That Ethan is part of a past I buried. But buried things have a way of clawing back up.

I don't check the voicemail. I don't need to. Instead, I force myself to move, to shove the phone in my bag, to get out the damn door. I have somewhere to be. Adrian's office is colder than usual. Or maybe it's just me.

I sit across from him, his dark gaze locked on mine, studying. I hate when he does that. It makes me feel like a specimen under glass, like he's peeling me apart layer by layer. "You seem tense," he says, voice smooth.I force a laugh. "No shit, doctor." A flicker of amusement crosses his face. "Tell me." I hesitate.

Not because I don't want to—but because I do. It's easy to talk to Adrian. Too easy. Like slipping into deep water, like letting go of something I should be holding onto. He listens in a way no one else does. Like he already knows what I'm going to say before I say it.

So I do.

I told him about the call. About the past that doesn't stay dead. About the way I still wake up some nights expecting Ethan's name to be on my phone screen. Adrian leans forward, elbows on his desk. "You think it was him?"

I nod, my throat tight. His expression darkens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. And then—so softly I almost don't catch it—he says, "He won't touch you." A shiver ghosts down my spine. It shouldn't feel like a promise.But it does. I don't remember leaving his office.

I don't remember stepping into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby, walking out into the sharp bite of New York air. All I remember is the way he looked at me.Like I was his.Like Ethan wasn't the only one who thought that.My skin prickles. My mind is a fog.

I need to shake this off. I need—need Someone bumps into me.Hard. I stumble back, barely catching myself before I hit the pavement. "What the—" Then I saw him. And the world tilts.

Ethan.

Standing there, hands in his pockets, watching me with those same blue eyes that once made me feel safe. Now, they make my stomach twist. A slow, easy smile spreads across his face. "Mia." My breath catches. This isn't real. This can't be real."What are you doing here?" My voice is too thin, too weak. His smile doesn't falter. "I was in the neighborhood." Bullshit.

My chest tightens. I step back. He steps forward."I missed you," he says, tilting his head. "Did you miss me?" A cold sweat breaks over my skin.He's playing a game.The same one he always has.

"I have to go." My voice is stronger now. I move to step past him, but his hand catches my wrist—just for a second, just long enough to make me freeze."Come on, Mia," he murmurs. "We both know you're not over me." Something inside me snaps. I yank my arm away. "You don't get to do this."

His smile fades. His eyes flicker—something sharp, something dark. And then, just as quickly as it came, it's gone. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Relax. I just wanted to see you."

I don't answer.I turn. I walk away.And even though I don't look back, I feel his eyes on me.I don't stop walking.Not until I'm home. Not until the door is locked behind me.