Chapter 1
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 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.
I whispered:
“Who is this?”
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.
I turned away.
The voice came again.
“Ask him what happened three years ago.”
Tears filled my eyes instantly.
No.
This could be a prank.
A recording.
Someone cruel.
Anyone could know Marcus’s name.
Anyone could imitate—
“Nia.”
The way he said my name destroyed every excuse.
Soft on the first syllable.
Almost a sigh.
Exactly the same.
I whispered:
“Where are you?”
“Close.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
My throat tightened.
“I already know the truth.”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
“You know Daniel’s version.”
I looked across the table.
Daniel was watching me now.
His expression had changed.
“Everything okay?”
I forced myself to nod.
“Yes.”
Another lie.
Marcus heard him.
I heard Marcus inhale slowly.
Then his voice became colder.
“Ask him what happened the night I disappeared.”
My stomach turned.
Daniel had told me.
A thousand times.
He and Marcus had been reviewing documents at their office.
They argued.
Marcus left angry.
Daniel assumed he went home.
Hours later, Marcus’s car was found near the river.
Police suspected suicide at first.
I never believed that.
Then fraud investigators found missing company funds.
Almost two million dollars.
Marcus became the prime suspect.
Daniel defended him publicly.
At first.
Then documents appeared.
Transfers.
Emails.
Signatures.
Marcus’s.
The police eventually concluded he had probably fled.
Alive.
Somewhere.
Leaving me.
Leaving everyone.
That explanation hurt more than death.
For two years, I hated Marcus.
For one year, I tried to stop loving him.
Daniel helped.
He was patient.
Protective.
He never rushed me.
Six months earlier, when he asked me to dinner for the first time, I almost said no.
Tonight was our fifth date.
And now Marcus was on my phone.
Alive.
“Ask him,” Marcus said.
My eyes filled.
“Ask him what?”
“Who called the police.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The night my car was found.”
I remembered Daniel saying a jogger reported it.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask him.”
I looked at Daniel.
He leaned forward.
“Nia, who is that?”
I ignored him.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Who found Marcus’s car?”
His expression froze.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“A jogger.”
“What was his name?”
Daniel frowned.
“How would I know?”
Marcus whispered in my ear:
“He knows.”
My breathing became shallow.
I asked:
“Who called police?”
Daniel sat back.
“Why are we talking about this?”
“Answer me.”
“Nia.”
“Who called?”
His eyes hardened.
“I don't know.”
Marcus spoke:
“Lie number one.”
My hand shook harder.
Daniel noticed.
“Who is on that phone?”
I couldn't answer.
Marcus continued:
“Now ask him who identified my jacket.”
I froze.
The police found Marcus’s blue jacket near the riverbank.
Daniel identified it.
I remembered.
“Daniel.”
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Who told police the jacket belonged to Marcus?”
He stared.
“You know I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it was his.”
“How were you sure?”
He laughed nervously.
“I saw him wear it.”
Marcus whispered:
“I hadn’t worn that jacket in eight months.”
My blood went cold.
“Marcus says—”
I stopped.
Too late.
Daniel's face emptied.
Everything inside me stopped too.
He whispered:
“What did you say?”
I couldn't breathe.
The restaurant suddenly felt unbearably quiet.
Even though nobody else had noticed us.
Daniel looked toward my phone.
Then toward the windows.
Marcus spoke.
“Now you can turn around.”
Slowly, I turned.
Outside the restaurant, across the glass, stood a man in a blue blazer.
Short curly hair.
Broader shoulders than I remembered.
A faint scar near his temple.
Marcus.
Alive.
My knees weakened.
The phone almost slipped from my hand.
He was staring directly at me.
Three years disappeared.
I saw our first date.
Our apartment.
The morning he proposed without a ring because he had forgotten to pick it up.
His stupid laugh.
The last morning I saw him.
He kissed my forehead and said:
“Dinner tonight?”
I said:
“Don’t be late.”
He never came.
Now he stood twenty feet away.
“Nia?” Daniel whispered.
I stood so quickly my chair nearly fell.
Other diners turned.
Daniel followed my eyes.
He saw Marcus.
Every bit of color vanished from his face.
That reaction told me more than any explanation could.
Daniel knew.
He knew Marcus was alive.
Or at least knew something that made seeing him impossible.
I raised the phone.
My voice broke.
“Marcus… you’re alive?”
His eyes never left Daniel.
“Yes.”
I started crying.
“How?”
“Later.”
He looked at Daniel.
“Ask him.”
My hand trembled.
“Ask him what?”
Marcus’s voice turned hard.
“Why he lied.”
Daniel stood.
“Nia, put the phone down.”
I turned toward him.
His fear had become anger.
“Why are you scared?”
“I’m not.”
“You look terrified.”
“He’s dangerous.”
Marcus heard.
His mouth twisted bitterly outside the glass.
Daniel continued:
“You don't know what happened.”
“No.”
I looked toward Marcus.
“Apparently I don’t.”
Daniel reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
His face changed.
“Nia.”
“Don't touch me.”
He looked toward the restaurant entrance.
For one second, I thought he might run.
Marcus moved too.
He entered through the front door.
Every step toward our table felt impossible.
People began noticing.
Daniel whispered:
“You shouldn't be here.”
Marcus stopped beside us.
That sentence shattered the last piece of normality.
Not:
You're alive.
Not:
Where have you been?
You shouldn't be here.
Marcus looked at him.
“That's the welcome I get?”
Daniel clenched his jaw.
“I thought you were gone.”
Marcus smiled without humor.
“You made sure everybody did.”
I stared between them.
“What is happening?”
Neither answered.
I shouted:
“What is happening?”
Several diners turned.
I didn't care.
Marcus looked at me.
His expression softened for the first time.
“I never left you.”
Tears ran down my face.
“Then where were you?”
He opened his jacket.
A scar crossed his side beneath his shirt.
Not completely visible.
Enough.
My breath caught.
Marcus said:
“The night I disappeared, somebody tried to kill me.”
Daniel looked away.
I saw it.
May you like
Marcus saw it too.
“And he knows exactly who.”
