Chapter 3: Under the Table

When I woke up again, it was already dark.

My phone buzzed with missed texts, and the streetlights outside flickered through the blinds.

Evening had fallen.

The house was quiet.

No more chatter or footsteps—just the distant hum of a car on the street. I listened for a moment, making sure I was alone.

Jason Grant must have left.

I was starving.

My stomach rumbled so loud it echoed in the silence. I wrapped a cardigan around myself and tiptoed into the hallway.

I opened my door, still in a white, princess-style nightgown, barefoot, and went downstairs to look for food.

My toes curled against the cold hardwood, each step sending a shiver up my spine. The house smelled faintly of roast chicken and lemon cleaner.

The hardwood floor was cold, and the chill made my mind a little clearer.

I padded into the kitchen and turned on the under-cabinet lights, squinting at the clock on the microwave.

I stood by the kitchen counter, popping a few slices of bread into the toaster.

I searched the fridge for cheese, but settled for butter. My reflection wavered in the shiny toaster, hair tangled and eyes puffy.

Suddenly, the study door opened.

I jumped, almost dropping the knife I was holding.

Jason Grant, in a tailored suit, walked out.

Under the warm yellow light, his features looked even sharper, his figure tall and upright.

His looks were sculpted—like a Greek statue come to life.

He didn’t look like he belonged in a place like this. Even his shadow seemed too formal for our kitchen tiles.

But he was so cold.

His presence was icy, his eyes even colder.

Even the silver cufflinks on his sleeves glinted with cold light.

He walked with a quiet confidence, not making a sound on the old floorboards.

Separated from me by the long living room, his gaze landed lightly on me.

I stood frozen, clutching the edge of the counter as if it could save me.

His thin lips pressed into a straight line.

The pressure was suffocating.

It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Almost instantly—

My pulse skyrocketed. I blinked, and suddenly I was twelve again, hiding from the neighbor’s angry dog.

I snapped back to my senses.

God, could I be any more obvious? Maybe if I just held my breath, I’d disappear. I ducked my head, my thoughts racing. What would Rachel do right now? How could I blend in with the furniture?

Clutching my head, I ducked under the dining table, trying to hide—only making myself more conspicuous.

I scrambled on hands and knees, banging my elbow on a chair leg. My pajama dress bunched up around my knees.

My sister’s light footsteps hurried down the stairs.

She always wore expensive perfume, and I caught a whiff before I saw her.

She ran straight into Jason Grant’s arms, tugging at his sleeve.

"Are you leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new headshots. Can’t you stay for dinner?"

Her voice was sugar-sweet, pitched high and soft.

My sister usually had a cool, aloof temperament.

Normally she was the ice queen at school—unapproachable, untouchable.

But now, she acted sweet and delicate, her voice soft and pleasant.

She even batted her eyelashes, the way she did when she wanted something from Dad.

Like a songbird—

I used to joke she could’ve been on Broadway with a voice like that.

With glossy hair and a melodious tune.

Not a strand out of place, even after running down the stairs. Her laughter was like wind chimes.

Jason Grant didn’t answer, only looked coldly at me, trembling under the table.

His eyes met mine, and for a split second, I saw something flicker—regret, maybe, or just surprise. I stared at the floor, willing myself to become invisible.

My sister’s smile faded.

She bit her lip and said,

"If you’re busy, you can see them another day. Let’s go, I’ll walk you out."

Her voice shook a little. She shot me a warning glare as if daring me to make a sound.

Jason Grant didn’t move.

He stood perfectly still, the silence stretching on like a dare.

The pressure from him was so intense, it was as if he hadn’t heard my sister at all.

I shrank even further, the cold from the floor biting into my legs.

My sister opened her mouth, but didn’t dare say anything more.

She looked away, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and deep:

His words rumbled, almost a growl, but quiet enough that it sent a chill down my spine.

"Fine, I’ll stay for dinner."

My father and sister both looked surprised.

Rachel’s mouth fell open, and Dad, who had just appeared in the doorway, blinked in confusion.

Jason Grant curled his lips slightly.

It was more a smirk than a smile, the kind that made me want to crawl under the rug.

"What are you afraid of? Hasn’t she already forgotten?"

He was talking about me, I realized. My ears burned.

Jason Grant strode over to the dining table and crouched down.

The expensive fabric of his suit didn’t wrinkle, and his shoes barely scuffed the floor.

His suit pants outlined his powerful legs.

I felt even smaller, tucked into my corner like a scared rabbit.

"Melissa, do you still recognize me?"

His voice was softer, but there was a warning in it. I peeked up at him, then looked away.

I timidly looked up, then quickly looked down, not daring to meet his gaze.

My breath came in shallow bursts. I nodded, almost imperceptibly.

I nodded slowly.

But suddenly, my fingers and toes tingled sharply, like they were being stabbed with pins.

My body rebelled, nerves alight with panic. I clutched my knees, trying to hold it together.

A stress reaction.

I cried out in pain.

It came out as a strangled yelp, my whole body shaking.

Squeezed my eyes shut.

Everything went black for a second, white spots dancing behind my eyelids.

Desperately shook my head.

Words tumbled out, desperate and wild:

"I don’t recognize you. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t recognize you."

My voice broke, thin as glass.