Chapter 10 When Silence Breaks

I'd been staying at Dominique's place for days. Hidden away from the world. Safe. Or at least, it felt like safety. He didn't ask questions I couldn't answer, didn't press when I drifted into silence. Instead, he moved around me with quiet care, bringing me warm meals I barely touched, covering me with a throw blanket when I fell asleep on the couch, sitting beside me without needing to fill the air with words.

He reminded me, gently and often, to stay off my phone. "Let the noise die down," he'd say. "Let it pass." And I did. I practically abandoned it. I wanted to believe the silence was peace. But peace is a strange thing; when it's built on avoidance and secrets, it isn't peace at all. It's just a quiet lie waiting to break.

That morning, I woke up in his arms, his warmth still against my skin. Then his phone chimed. Just a soft ding, but it pulled me out of sleep. I reached for it instinctively, just to check the time.

The lock screen lit up with a photo of me, caught mid-laugh, eyes half closed in joy. The kind of smile that looked effortless, like happiness had found me despite everything. I smiled to myself, ready to drop the phone... but I hesitated, I knew his password.

When the screen opened, I saw a message waiting from an unknown number. But it wasn't just the sender. It was the words.

"You know I miss her, and I know she's safer with you than anywhere else."

My breath caught. The tone was too familiar. The phrasing. It had to be her. My mother.

I stared at the message, numb, feeling every wall I'd built tremble. He knew. Dominique had known. He'd been in contact with her and never told me. Not once.

I turned to look at him, still asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully, while I'd been losing sleep, praying, aching for any sign she was alive.

Something cold settled in my chest. I felt sick. Betrayed.

I couldn't keep it in. I shook him awake, phone in hand.

"Explain," I said, trembling. I hadn't realized I'd been holding back.

His eyes fluttered open, and when he saw the screen, his face changed. "I can explain."

I stepped back, heart pounding.

"Explain what, Dominique? That you've been in touch with her this whole time? That you kept it from me while I cried myself to sleep, thinking she was dead?"

His voice cracked, quiet but firm. "I couldn't tell you. It's not safe. The less you know, the better."

"Don't give me that. I have a right to know! She's my mother."

"Izalea, listen..."

"No. You don't get to 'Izalea, listen' me right now.

My voice broke. "You've been lying to me. I trusted you. You knew how much this was tearing me apart."

He stood, reaching for me. "Please, just calm down..."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" I backed away. "I can't do this. I can't stay here."

I grabbed my things, what little I had. Desperately, he followed me, still shirtless.

"Where are you going? You don't even know this neighborhood," he called after me.

I didn't stop. "Then I'll figure it out."

"Come back inside. We'll talk. Please."

I froze on the steps, slowly turning to face him. "No," I said, my voice cold. "Talk here."

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared like the words were stuck in his throat.

That pause... that silence, it broke me.

"Exactly," I whispered. "You won't. So I'm leaving."

I stepped off the porch, one foot in front of the other, like I could walk away from the betrayal if I walked fast enough. My fingers trembled as I clutched my little bag.

I didn't look back.

But as I moved down the street, I felt something, uninvited.

A memory.

The first night I stayed here, I cried myself to sleep on the couch, choking on silence I couldn't explain. He didn't ask questions. He just sat beside me, draped a blanket over my shoulders, and whispered, "You're safe here."

Those words had felt like shelter.

Now, they felt like a lie.

But I heard it, a low engine revving behind me. Dominique's car. He slowed beside me.

I turned.

"I'll take you home," he said, leaning toward the passenger window.

I shook my head, blinking back the sting in my eyes. "I said I'm fine."

"I don't want you out here alone."

"I've been alone this whole time. Don't act like this is new."

His jaw clenched. My breath hitched. I could see it on his face; he wanted to explain, to fix this, but it was too late.

Just then, a cab appeared down the street.

I flagged it down and climbed in before he could stop me. He stepped out of his car, shirtless, barefoot on the street, helpless, shouting my name into the street like it could undo everything.

I didn't turn.

I slid into the cab, gave the driver my destination, and closed the door.

Through the mirror, I caught his eyes, full of something I couldn't name anymore. Regret? Guilt? Fear?

Didn't matter. I'd already left.

Inside the cab, the driver looked at me like I was unhinged. I didn't blame him.

It was a long drive, long enough for my thoughts to spiral. For the first time in years, I'd let myself consider his feelings, really consider them. I'd always kept that door closed, told myself he was like an older brother, someone steady, someone safe. But I let it slip. I laughed with him. Slept beside him. Trusted him. Maybe even started falling, while he kept this from me.

And I felt like a fool.

Why would she contact him and not me? What else was he hiding?

As we neared my apartment, something else felt wrong. The cab slowed.

My eyes widened. Press. Cameras. Dozens of them crowded around the front of my building like vultures.

"What the hell..." I whispered.

"Should I keep driving?" the cabbie asked.

"No. Stay back."

He watched me through the mirror, something unreadable in his eyes. I turned on my phone for the first time in days.

Notifications exploded. News alerts. Mentions. Messages. Headlines.

Izalea Benson is at the center of a new embezzlement investigation.

Millions missing from All-Star Best and Creative Agency.

The number flashed on the screen, $101.4 million.

I couldn't breathe. I had never even seen that much in my life, let alone stolen it.

My phone buzzed. My manager. Of course. Finally, after days of ignoring my calls, he decides I'm worth a ring.

"Izalea, you need to come in. Now."

His voice was abrupt, sharper than I expected. No warmth, no concern. Just business.

Like I was already guilty.

"I can't." I glanced out at the press still swarming the front of my building. "I'm not even dressed. I haven't showered. I can't get into my apartment."

"That's not my concern. This needs to be handled today."

"Then send someone, have Belle bring me something to change into."

"She's busy."

I blinked. "Busy? For me?"

A beat of silence. Then... *click*. He hung up.

I stared at the phone in disbelief. Just like that, dismissed. Alone.

I knew this was about the allegation. I hadn't been to the agency in weeks but I needed to be there more than he needed me to. I needed answers. Why was I being charged with embezzlement? What was going on?

The cab took me to a store near my building. I rushed in, only to be met with stares and whispers. A TV was on inside, my face splashed across the screen.

"...the actress accused of embezzling millions..."

A clerk pointed at me, voice sharp. "Thief."

I backed out, tears burning in my eyes. The next store did the same. Shame followed me everywhere.

Eyes fixed on the blur of the city outside. The ride was quiet, the kind that lets your thoughts get loud. As we slowed near a café, something, or someone, caught my eye.

My brows pulled together. I leaned closer to the window, squinting.

"Wait..." I murmured. "Isn't that Joe?"

There he was, Jasmine's brother. Standing casually outside the café, scrolling through his phone like it was just another normal day. No limp. No nurse nearby. No hospital in sight.

My pulse quickened.

Jasmine had left my apartment in a panic, saying he'd been in an accident. But Joe didn't look like someone who'd just left a hospital bed. He looked... fine.

Too fine.

The cab went forward, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. "Can you slow down a bit?" I asked the driver.

The car obeyed, easing just enough that Joe noticed. For a split second, his eyes met mine through the glass.

Recognition.

He gave me a small, calm smile and slipped into a waiting taxi before I could even think.

I leaned back. What? Why would she lie?

Finally, I reached my favorite boutique. The owner let me in without hesitation, handed me something to wear, and hugged me gently. The kind that came from years of loyalty, not just sympathy.

Even after I changed, I still felt dirty, like the filth wasn't on my clothes but under my skin.

I thanked her with everything I had left in me, then headed for the agency.

But the press had beaten me there.

I stood across the street, staring at the chaos. I didn't know how to move forward. I just knew I couldn't go back.

The silence I once thought was safety had broken. And all that remained was noise.