Thorin Parker

Five Years Later…

My heart felt like it was splitting in two as I screamed my frustration into the empty room.

“Aaaaaah!!!”

My fist slammed into the nearest wall, the impact rattling up my arm. I swept everything off the settee in front of me—magazines, glass, whatever was there—sending them crashing to the floor.

My knuckles were already raw, but the sting didn’t compare to the deep, suffocating pain in my chest.

“I killed her!!!” The words tore out of me again and again, each one burning my throat. Tears blurred my vision as memories of her flooded in—her laugh, her stubbornness, her smile. “I… I didn’t even ask her if it was true. I—” I turned toward my therapist, sitting across from me with that maddening calm. “I killed her dreams. I killed the life she planned for herself… just because of my selfish ego!”

I pounded the wall again, the sound dull against my skin, leaning into it as if I could drive the guilt out of my body.

“Mr. Thorin,” my therapist said in a soothing tone, “you need closure. You’ve been drowning in self-pity for five years. Your basketball career is barely hanging on—”

“Career?” I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “I get to have a career when I stole hers? When I emotionally abused her until she took her own life?!”

“Thorin, some events are beyond our control,” he replied evenly. “You acted based on what you believed—that she was trying to manipulate you. That’s understandable—”

“Understandable?” I roared. “I didn’t even give her the chance to explain before believing the lies they told me. What if they were lying?”

“And what if they weren’t?” he countered. “What if she was behind those videos spreading online, claiming you as hers for the world to see?”

I stilled, breathing hard. The image of Ellie I knew didn’t fit that accusation.

“Ellie cared more about making it in life than about claiming a marriage. There’s no way she could have done that,” I muttered.

“Yet you believed it.” Mr. George leaned back in his chair. “Deep down, you must have known she wouldn’t. So why did you accept it? Why did you choose to hurt her instead of trusting your feelings?”

My head dropped, shame pressing on my shoulders. “There was evidence… pictures. Nude pictures of her, sent from her phone to my friends.”

“And you’re certain they weren’t altered?”

“They weren’t.” My jaw tightened. “I knew her body. I knew every mark, every curve. That was her.”

The timer beeped, cutting through the tension. Mr. George stood abruptly.

“Our time is up, Mr. Parker. My advice—make peace with her death. Honour her memory. Visit her. Do the things she loved. From how you speak about her, I can tell she was a good woman. I’m sure she’d want you to have peace.”

Peace.

What a joke. I wasn’t searching for peace. I was searching for punishment—for retribution for what I’d done. Even if she had done all those things, I could have walked away instead of destroying her. I was better than that… or I thought I was.

“Excuse me! Sorry!” A woman bumped into me as I stepped outside, hurrying away. I might have ignored her—except the pink floral dress she wore stopped me cold.

The pattern. I’d seen it before. It sparked an ache of déjà vu so strong it stole my breath. It was Ellie’s style. Something only she would design.

I shoved my fists into my pockets and strode toward my penthouse. Coach Thunberg had taken my cars, my bike—everything—afraid my guilt would push me to do something irreversible.

“Welcome, Mr. Parker.” The receptionist smiled. “Your girlfriend was here earlier. She just stepped out for groceries.”

By ‘girlfriend’ she meant Arianna. That lie again. She was a childhood friend—nothing more. I’d only paraded her in front of Ellie to hurt her.

Ellie…

The elevator doors closed, and I slammed my fist into the metal wall. My throat burned with the effort to hold back another breakdown.

When the doors slid open to my floor, I stepped into the apartment.

“Hey!” Arianna’s voice cut through the silence. “You okay? You seem… off.”

I studied her. “The receptionist said you’d stepped out for groceries. How—”

She smiled easily. “Don’t freak out. I’m not a ghost. I came up the underground elevator.”

Ghost. If only Ellie’s ghost would come. I’d beg her forgiveness on my knees. How had I ever justified what I’d done?

I left Arianna standing there and drifted toward the one place that still felt like hers—Ellie’s old room.

I sat there for what felt like hours, surrounded by her scent, her colours, the quiet that always settled in here.

“Thorin, this isn’t good for you,” Arianna said softly from the doorway. She stepped in, stacking up some boxes. “We should clear out her things. It’ll help—”

“Don’t you dare, Arianna!” My voice cracked like a whip. I leapt up, snatching the boxes from her. One slipped, spilling its contents across the floor.

I froze.

“Arianna… have you been in here before?” My voice was barely a whisper. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“No! Never. This is my first time.”

My gaze dropped to a yellow floral dress she wore. I stepped closer, gripping the fabric. “Where did you get this?”

She shrugged. “Marian bought it for me. It’s from a new designer—Selene Thorne.”

Selene Thorne.

The name hit me like a jolt. Memories surged—childhood games in the treehouse, Ellie telling me about the alias she’d use if she ever wanted to vanish but still keep a part of her real name alive. Selene Thorne.

Could it be?

Was Ellie alive?

Or was it just coincidence?

I pulled out my phone, fingers flying over the screen. I sent a message to my private investigator.

I needed answers. And if she was alive… then she hadn’t died. She’d escaped.