"We all have secrets, but some are darker than others." - Unknown

Saint

The morning sun streamed through the window, a stark contrast to the darkness that still clung to the edges of my mind. I sat on the edge of the bed, Daisy purring contentedly in my lap, her warmth a small comfort in the chill that had settled deep within me. Last night's nightmare had been a cruel reminder that the past wasn't as buried as I'd hoped. It was a living thing, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to resurface.

I glanced at the clock. Saint had said Marcus would be here soon. The thought of facing them both, of revisiting the ghosts I'd tried so hard to bury, made my stomach churn. But I knew it had to be done. The roses, the nightmare… they, were escalating. I couldn't pretend anymore that it was just a coincidence, some random act of malice. Someone was targeting me, and they knew me. But how? Was it a random stalker, someone I'd never met? Or was it someone closer, someone who had tried to get close to me before and failed? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a wave of unease washing over me. It felt like a violation, this intrusion into my carefully constructed present. And on top of everything else, there was the charity event. Another one. This time for the local hospitals. I’d already committed to it, even agreed to auction off a dance; the proceeds would go to the charity. The irony wasn't lost on me; my life was spiraling into chaos, and I was supposed to be waltzing with strangers for a good cause. It felt surreal, like a bizarre out-of-body experience.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I stood up, the room swaying slightly. I needed to pull myself together. I splashed some cold water on my face, trying to shake off the lingering fear that clung to me like a shroud. Looking in the mirror, I saw the reflection of a woman I barely recognized. The vibrant, confident woman I usually saw had been replaced by someone pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. The weight of secrets, of fear, was etched on my face, a visible burden I couldn't seem to hide. I wondered if Saint would notice if he would see the cracks in my facade.

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I thought about Saint. He'd been so kind, so protective. I hated the thought of burdening him with my problems, of dragging him into the darkness that surrounded me. But I knew I couldn't face this alone. He was becoming my friend, which was nice to be seen as such and more than a client. And deep down, a part of me knew that he wouldn't let me push him away. He'd seen glimpses of the real me, the vulnerable me, and I had a feeling he wouldn't back down now. It was a strange comfort, this knowledge, this feeling of not being entirely alone.

A soft knock on the door startled me. "Veronica? It's Saint. Are you ready?"

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself, to plaster a semblance of normalcy back onto my face. "Yeah," I replied, my voice a little shaky. "Come in."

The door opened, and Saint entered. He looked concerned, his eyes searching mine, assessing. He didn't say anything, but I could see the questions swirling in his gaze. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

"Better," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Just… a little tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press it. "Marcus is here," he said. "He has some things to show us."

I nodded, my heart sinking. I knew what that meant. The past was about to be laid bare, and I had no idea what secrets it might reveal, what skeletons might come rattling out of the closet. I followed Saint out of the room, my steps heavy, my stomach twisting into knots. As I walked towards the living room, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking towards my own reckoning. The weight of secrets was heavy, and I knew that today, some of them would finally come to light, whether I was ready or not. The air in the living room felt thick with unspoken words, with the anticipation of what was to come.