Chapter 1: The Voice From the Grave
The first time I heard Marcus’s voice after three years, I was sitting across from the man who told me Marcus was dead.
I had been smiling.
That is the part I still hate remembering.
Daniel had just made some ridiculous joke about the waiter mispronouncing his name when my phone lit up beside my wineglass.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Daniel smiled.
“Take it. Could be work.””
I answered.
“Hello?””
For one second, there was only breathing.
Then a voice I had buried three years earlier whispered:
“Nia… don’t turn around.””
My entire body went cold.
The restaurant disappeared around me.
The candles. The crystal glasses. The low piano music.
Daniel.
Everything.
There are voices your mind can forget.
Marcus Reed’s was not one of them.
I had loved that voice. Fought with it. Fallen asleep beside it. Listened to it whisper that we had our entire future ahead of us.
Then one night Marcus disappeared.
No goodbye. No explanation. No body.
Just his abandoned car near the river and a phone smashed so badly the police couldn't recover anything useful.
Daniel had been Marcus’s business partner.
His best friend.
And the man who finally convinced me to stop waiting.
Now that impossible voice came through my phone.
“Nia.””
My hand started shaking.
I looked at Daniel.
He was checking something on his own phone.
He hadn’t noticed yet.
“Who is this?”” I whispered.
A pause.
Then: “Someone who knows who you’re having dinner with.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I wanted to turn around.
Every instinct screamed at me to look toward the windows behind my chair.
But the voice had told me not to.
And somehow I obeyed.
“Marcus?””
Daniel looked up.
“What?””
I covered the phone slightly.
“Nothing.””
His eyes narrowed.
“Who was that?””
“Wrong number.””
I ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Daniel placed his phone face down.
“You look pale.””
“I’m fine.””
“Are you sure?””
He reached across the table and touched my wrist.
Three years ago, that same hand had rested on my shoulder while I cried in a police station.
Three years ago, Daniel had held me while I stared at photographs of Marcus’s abandoned car.
Three years ago, he had told me that sometimes love meant accepting that someone wasn't coming home.
Now his thumb moved slowly across my skin.
And I suddenly remembered something.
The night Marcus disappeared, Daniel had arrived at my apartment at 2:17 a.m.
He hadn't called first.
He hadn't knocked.
He had simply stood outside my door, soaked from the rain, holding Marcus's broken watch.
He had told me the police had found the car.
He had told me there was blood inside.
He had told me there was almost certainly no chance Marcus had survived.
I had collapsed.
Daniel had caught me.
And he had whispered, “I'll take care of you, Nia. I promise.””
I looked at him now.
“Daniel?””
“Yes, sweetheart?””
“Do you remember the night Marcus disappeared?””
His expression barely changed.
“Of course.””
“Did the police ever find his wallet?””
Daniel frowned.
“Why are you asking that?””
“I was just thinking about it.””
“They searched everything, Nia. You know that.””
“I know. I just can't remember.””
He leaned back.
“It's been three years. You don't have to keep reopening that wound.””
I nodded slowly.
Then I noticed something strange.
His right hand was gripping the edge of the table.
Hard enough that his knuckles had turned white.
“Are you feeling okay?”” I asked.
He released the table immediately.
“I'm worried about you.””
A waiter approached with our dessert menu.
Daniel smiled at him.
“Could we have another five minutes?””
“Certainly, sir.””
When the waiter walked away, Daniel picked up my phone.
My stomach tightened.
“What are you doing?””
“Your screen's still on.””
He glanced at it.
“Unknown number?””
“Spam.””
He gave me a small smile.
“Let me see.””
“Daniel.””
His smile disappeared.
It lasted less than a second, but I saw it.
Then he placed the phone back beside my glass.
“Of course.””
I needed to leave.
I needed to get somewhere Daniel couldn't follow.
But I also needed to know whether the voice had really been Marcus.
My phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
*Don't let him take you home.*
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
*Check the left pocket of the coat he gave you last Christmas.*
My breath caught.
Daniel had given me that coat.
A beautiful camel-colored wool coat from a designer boutique. He had insisted it was a Christmas present because I was always cold.
I hadn't worn it in months.
“What is it?”” Daniel asked.
I locked my screen.
“Nothing.””
He studied me.
Then he smiled.
“Let's go home.””
I forced myself to smile back.
“Actually, I think I'll get a taxi.””
His expression changed.
“Why?””
“I have a headache.””
“I'll drive you.””
“You've had wine.””
“Two glasses. I'm fine.””
“I'd rather get a taxi.””
For the first time that evening, Daniel looked genuinely angry.
He lowered his voice.
“Nia, don't make this difficult.””
I stared at him.
He seemed to realize what he'd said.
His expression softened.
“I'm sorry. I just don't want you going home alone.””
I picked up my handbag.
“Then walk me outside.””
He stood.
I followed him through the restaurant, feeling the weight of every step.
At the entrance, I glanced at the dark windows.
A man stood across the street beneath the awning of a closed bookstore.
Black jacket.
Hands in pockets.
His face was partially hidden by the rain.
But I recognized the way he stood.
The slight tilt of his head.
The familiar weight on his left leg.
Marcus.
I stopped walking.
Daniel followed my gaze.
For one terrifying second, his face lost every trace of color.
Then he grabbed my elbow.
“Don't look.””
My blood turned to ice.
Because those were almost exactly the words Marcus had spoken on the phone.
And Daniel had said them before I could even ask who was standing across the street.
When I turned back toward him, he was already pulling me toward the car.
“Daniel, let go.””
He leaned close.
“Get in the car, Nia.””
Across the street, the man in the black jacket raised his hand.
Not to wave.
To show me something.
A small silver object glinted between his fingers.
A wedding ring.
Marcus's wedding ring.
The one I had watched the police place inside an evidence bag three years earlier.
May you like
And then the man mouthed two words.
*He knows.*
