Chapter 3 Silence Between Them

Bill's Point of View

The note sat on his dining table, heavy like a blade, taunting him in Deborah's handwriting.

"I hope she was worth it."

She wasn't. None of them were.

Bill stared at the folded letter again, reading it for the hundredth time. Her words bled with pain, and every one of them carved through his chest.

He hadn't slept in days. Not really. Just sat in his apartment, lights off, whiskey bottle half-empty, the echoes of her voice haunting every shadow.

He tried to call.

She didn't answer.

He tried to text.

Delivered. No reply.

He'd gone by her apartment once, but the doorman stopped him before he could reach the elevator. She'd left instructions do not let him in under any circumstances.

She meant it.

Bill stood now, alone, surrounded by silence.

And this time, it wasn't peaceful.

It was punishment.

He walked to the mirror in his hallway. His eyes were bloodshot. Shirt wrinkled. Hair a mess.

This wasn't the man Deborah fell for.

Hell, this wasn't even the man he used to be.

He didn't blame her.

He hated himself too.

And yet, despite everything-he still loved her.

That night, after Carla's warning, he'd gotten another message.

One he hadn't told anyone about.

"Your past is crawling home. You'll pay. So will she."

The number was untraceable.

The message vanished after ten seconds.

But the chill that ran through him stayed.

Something deeper was going on. This wasn't just about cheating.

Someone was pulling strings behind his back-and Deborah had been caught in the web.

He pulled out his laptop and started digging.

Emails. Transfers. Old business deals. People he'd wronged.

And then it hit him-Vincent Lorne.

Five years ago, Bill exposed Vincent's embezzlement in their shared firm. Got him fired.

Vincent swore revenge. Disappeared.

But what if he never really left?

Bill stared at the screen, a cold sweat breaking across his skin.

Was Carla working for Vincent?

Was Deborah just... collateral?

He grabbed his phone, his hands trembling.

He needed to warn her. Even if she didn't want to hear it.

He dialed.

"Number blocked."

Damn.

He tried Naomi instead.

"Bill?" Naomi answered, cautious.

"I need to talk to Deborah. It's urgent."

"She doesn't want anything to do with you," Naomi snapped. "And honestly, I agree with her."

"Listen to me-it's not about us. It's about her safety. Carla isn't who she says she is. Something's coming. I think Deborah's being watched."

There was a pause.

"She already knows," Naomi said quietly. "Someone left a card at her place. Said he's not who you think."

Bill's chest tightened. "That wasn't from me."

"I know."

"Then she really is in danger."

Naomi sighed. "She's staying with me now. You won't find her. But I'll tell her what you said."

"Thanks," he said, voice low. "I just want her safe."

Over the next week, Bill buried himself in work. Not for distraction-but for redemption.

He cut off every woman who still called.

Sold the Porsche Deborah hated.

Donated his luxury watches.

He started therapy. Real therapy. No pretending. No walls.

Each day, he faced the truth he kept buried:

He had destroyed the one woman who ever believed in him.

And no apology would fix that.

But maybe-just maybe-he could become someone worthy again.

Meanwhile, Deborah didn't stay still either.

Naomi helped her set up a new workspace at her apartment.

She reopened her jewelry line-DebCrest Designs.

Within days, her online sales tripled. Word got out that Deborah Carter, the designer behind last year's royal gala collection, was back and working solo.

And stronger.

Still, Bill watched from afar.

No messages. No emails.

Only silence.

And silence had never been so loud.

One rainy evening, Bill sat on a bench near Naomi's apartment complex. He hadn't planned to be there. He just needed fresh air.

That's when he saw her.

Deborah.

Umbrella in hand. Headphones in. Jacket zipped to her neck.

She looked... powerful.

But distant.

Untouchable.

He didn't approach. Just sat there, watching as she walked past.

And then-

She paused.

Turned.

Their eyes met.

His heart stopped.

She stared at him. No smile. No frown. Just... silence.

Then she walked away.

And didn't look back.

Three days later, Bill got another message.

A video.

He hit play.

Grainy footage. A parking garage.

Deborah walking alone.

Then-

A dark figure stepping behind her. Watching. Not moving.

The video cut.

And a message appeared.

"Keep digging, and she disappears."

Bill stood frozen.

No more waiting.

No more guilt chains.

He called a private investigator he once hired for corporate cases.

"I need you to find everything on Carla Torres. And Vincent Lorne. I'll pay whatever you want."

"Understood. Give me 24 hours."

That night, he heard a knock at his door.

He opened it cautiously-

And there stood Deborah.

Drenched from the rain. No umbrella. Her eyes red. Jaw clenched.

His heart leapt into his throat.

"Deborah-"

"Don't talk."

She stepped inside, water pooling at her feet.

"Someone followed me today," she said. "I saw him in my mirror. Same man from the card. Same face."

Bill swallowed. "I know. I got a video. I was coming to-"

"I don't care what you were coming to do," she snapped. "You dragged me into your world, Bill. Now get me out of it."

"I will," he said, stepping closer. "I promise."

She stepped back. "Your promises mean nothing to me."

He didn't flinch. He deserved that.

"Then let me prove it."

"I'm not here to forgive you," she said. "I'm here because I'm tired of being afraid. And if someone's coming for me... I need to know why."

He nodded slowly. "Then we do this together."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then she whispered, "If I get hurt again-if anyone I love gets hurt-I'll never speak to you again."

"You won't," Bill swore. "Not on my watch."

The next morning, Bill's investigator called.

"I found something," he said. "And you're not gonna like it."

"What is it?"

"Carla Torres doesn't exist."

Bill blinked. "What?"

"The ID's fake. The name's fake. No digital footprint before two years ago. But the real kicker?"

The investigator paused.

"She's been working under a different alias before. One tied directly to Vincent Lorne's revenge list."

Bill's stomach dropped.

"And Deborah?" he asked.

"She wasn't a target."

Bill exhaled.

"She was the bait."