The secret he keeps

VIOLET

The bed was cold when I woke up. My hand instinctively reached out, searching for Ryan, but all I found was the soft indentation where his body had been. My chest tightened as I sat up, the faint hum of unease threading through my veins.

He wasn’t here. Again.

Sliding out of bed, I wrapped a blanket around myself and padded to the balcony. The door was slightly ajar, letting in the crisp morning air. My heart thudded with anticipation as I peeked outside, hoping to find him leaning against the railing, lost in thought as he so often was.

But the balcony was empty, and the city of Florence stretched out before me, bathed in the golden hues of sunrise.

“Ryan?” I called softly, stepping back inside. Silence greeted me, heavy and unsettling.

The house felt too still. His phone wasn’t on the nightstand either 

I tried to ignore the gnawing dread in my stomach as I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to distract myself. Maybe he went out for coffee 

But deep down, I knew better.

This wasn’t the first time he’d vanished from the bed before I woke up.  It wasn’t the first time he’d come back with shadows in his eyes, his knuckles white, or his voice lined with an edge I didn’t recognize.

I poured myself a cup of tea, my hands trembling slightly as I stirred the sugar. The steam curled around my face, but it did little to warm the chill that had settled deep inside me.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it in the way Ryan held himself, the way his smiles never quite reached his eyes. It had started a few days ago, right after the night we’d gone to the flower garden and he left to collect the package which turned out to be a breathtaking painting of me, one he had clearly tried to keep a secret. That day, his mood had shifted. Subtle at first, but the more I paid attention, the more I noticed the cracks in the facade he wore so well.

Ryan was troubled. He was hiding something. And no matter how hard I tried to reach him, he kept me at arm’s length.

I pressed the mug to my lips, staring out the window. My thoughts spun, each one darker than the last. Where had he gone? Was he okay?

Just then, the front door creaked open, and I froze. Relief and apprehension collided as I placed the mug on the counter and turned to face him.

Ryan stepped in,his blonde hair disheveled. In one hand, he held a paper bag, the smell of food wafting faintly from it

“Ryan,” I breathed in relief. “Where were you? I woke up now and you weren't there”

He met my gaze with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just went out to grab breakfast,” he said lightly, leaning down to press a kiss against my forehead. “Missed me already, huh?”

I melted into his warmth, inhaling the familiar scent of him—comforting.  But it wasn’t enough to dispel the unease curling in my stomach. 

“Ryan,” I whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Something is wrong. What are you not telling me?”

He sighed, his hands resting lightly on my waist. “Violet,” he said gently. “I told you already. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine.”

He tried to reassure me but I wasn't naive enough to believe him.

“Is it about our parents?” I asked, searching his face for any crack in the mask he wore.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—relief, maybe, that I’d guessed wrong—but he shrugged nonchalantly. “No. They’ve probably given up by now,” he said with a smirk. “I made sure to cover our tracks. They couldn’t find us if they tried.”

I let out a small chuckle. 

“Of course you did,” I said, shaking my head.

“Now,” Ryan said, stepping back and holding up the paper bag with a smile. “Let’s eat. I got you chocolate croissants and ice cream—because I know how grumpy you get without something sweet.”

I managed a small smile as we settled at the table, unpacking the food. The silence between us was heavy, broken only by the rustling of wrappers and the occasional clink of utensils.

Then his phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the silence. He reached for it immediately, his brows furrowing as he read the message.

“Violet,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I need to go somewhere real quick. Eat without me. I’ll be back for lunch, okay?”

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. “Ryan… where are you going?”

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. I followed, grabbing his arm before he could move farther. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” I demanded, my voice trembling with both anger and fear.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The familiar gesture broke my heart a little—it was the same thing he did when he felt cornered. Finally, he turned to face me, his expression softening.

“I’m sorry, Violet,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You’re right. There’s something I’ve been dealing with… something I didn’t tell you about. But it’ll be over today, I promise. When I get back, I’ll tell you everything—everything.”

Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over despite my efforts to hold them back. “Ryan…”

He stepped closer, cupping my face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, Mouse,” he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead.

And then, just like that, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had been. Slowly, I sank back into my chair, the tears flowing freely now. What was happening? Why was he shutting me out? Just when I thought we were finally on solid ground, something new had crept between us, threatening to tear us apart.

I wiped my cheeks, trying to steady my breathing. It is Ryan . Whatever it is, it’s probably nothing serious. He said he’d be back for lunch, and he’ll tell me everything then. I just have to sit and wait till he is back.

But then, a soft ping broke the silence. My gaze flickered to the table, and my stomach twisted. Ryan’s phone. He must have forgotten it in his rush to leave.

Curiosity prickled at me, and before I could stop myself, I reached for the device. The screen lit up with a text from Jack:

Be careful. Make sure you follow the plan with the cops.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

Cops?

My heart thudded in my chest, each beat growing louder and heavier. What was Ryan’s involvement with the cops? My hands trembled as I scrolled up through the texts, each message making the unease coil tighter in my stomach.

And then, I saw it—a name that sent a chill racing down my spine.

Margaret.

Ryan’s childhood housekeeper. The woman who had harassed him, haunted his past, and left scars he barely spoke about. She was here. In Florence. The same city as us.

My breath caught as I read further. Ryan had been gathering evidence against her, working tirelessly in secret to ensure justice was served. He’d informed the cops, and today was the day she was to be arrested.

But then, my gaze landed on something else—a location.

243 Willow Crest Lane, Apartment 3B. 

That's where the sting operation was going down

Remember what I said about sitting and waiting for Ryan? 

That was a blatant lie

There was no way I was going to let Ryan face this alone. Not when I could feel the danger pulsing through every word in that message.

I grabbed my jacket, slipping on my shoes with shaky hands. 

I’m going.