Chapter 5
No one knew where I was hiding, nor did they know that I had long been prepared to live out my days in solitude.
When I first moved to this city, I refused to engage in any conversation.
Buying groceries, renting an apartment, even paying utility bills–I dealt with it all using the briefest words possible.
People thought I was cold and eccentric. Eventually, they stopped trying to talk to me, which suited me just fine.
With my savings, I opened a small art studio, teaching children how to draw.
Once, I had believed my talent was meant for gallery spotlights, for applause and acclaim from countless strangers.
But now, I only wanted to sketch simple lines in peace and teach a handful of innocent children.
A month later, the fake–death service company contacted me.
“Dennis Malcolm has been looking for you recently,” they said.
“Looking for me?” I chuckled softly, my voice cold. “I’m already dead. What could he want from me?”
“He’s been to your gallery,” the staff member explained. “He’s even tried reaching out to your old friends. But rest assured, our
protection measures are thorough. He won’t find anything.
“We’ve learned that after the incident, he fell into deep guilt and pain. The police told him the currents in that area were
treacherous, leaving almost no chance of survival. He’s visited the site many times, searching for clues, and even sent people to investigate your whereabouts, all to no avail.”
I listened in silence, my fingers tapping lightly on the table, as if hearing a story unrelated to me.
“Miss Willow,” the staff member paused before continuing, “your social media posts and videos have become his worst
nightmare. The scheduled uploads exposed his indifference and neglect, ruining his public image completely. Everyone knows
now–his heart was never with you. It was always with your sister, Camille.”
