Chapter 17
After reporting the situation and address to the police, I set my phone to silent and went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I found that Zach had called me more than ten times and sent dozens of messages.
His messages ran the gamut, first, shock that I’d actually called the cops; then, humiliation and anger, accusing me of being heartless, caring only about money, not feelings; finally, a breakdown, pleading and asking why I was doing this to him.
He claimed he’d only made a small mistake, one anyone could make. That it wasn’t real betrayal. So why was I being so cruel?
Before I could read all the messages, his call came through again.
My first instinct was to decline. But I knew him. If I didn’t answer, he’d just keep calling until he got what he wanted. So I pressed “answer.”
His hoarse voice came through, tinged with sadness. “Serena, I’ve done a lot of thinking. I admit it. You win. I can’t function without you.”
“You can have half my shares, half of everything I own. Just come back.”
I glanced at the time and raised an eyebrow. He was five days too late.
“Sorry, the three days have passed. I’ve already changed my mind.”
“Serena, you…“Zach was about to speak, but suddenly began coughing violently.
After a long while, the coughing eased. His voice was hoarse and rough. “What happened to you?”
I smiled faintly and said nothing. Back then, he often deducted my bonuses, cut my wages, and gave projects to Hannah. I was merely treating him the same way he once treated me.
Sure enough, if the needle doesn’t prick you, you don’t know it hurts.
He seemed to understand my intention, as if he finally realized that my aim wasn’t his wealth.
He let out a self–deprecating, bitter laugh. “Serena, I barely recognize you anymore.”
Then he started coughing violently again, breathing heavily, sounding in pain.
I wanted to ask what was wrong, but I feared it would make him think I was showing concern, so I stayed silent.
He seemed to know what I was thinking, muttering to himself, “I have a fever. Serena, I’m in our house now. Not long ago, I bought it back”
“I want to know… when you had a fever back then, and I wasn’t there… were you as upset as I am now?”
I didn’t respond. He continued, “All the paintings you made for me back then are gone. I searched the entire house and couldn’t find them.”
“Serena, did you put them away? Or… did you throw them away?”
He sounded like a child, chattering endlessly. His voice trembled. His tone became gradually more aggrieved.
There was a rustling sound on the other end, probably him rifling through things.
I sighed softly, “I burned them all.”
