JANELLE CROSS

She's alive?

There’s something about silence that feels different after betrayal. It doesn’t hum. It doesn’t breathe. It just sits heavy on your chest like dead weight, whispering, what now?

Grayson Vale hadn’t stopped reaching out. Calls. Emails. Messages. He even had people show up pretending they were “checking on my wellbeing.”

I wanted to scream every time my phone buzzed.

Two days ago, a guy named Holden showed up at my building’s front desk with flowers and a handwritten note. Said he was Grayson’s friend and “a man of peace,” like that was supposed to mean something. I didn’t open the note. I left it at the desk and told the security guy he could keep the flowers or toss them.

The next day, it was a woman… Elodie or Eloise, I didn’t catch the name. She called saying, “Hi, Janelle. I’m just reaching out on behalf of someone who cares deeply about you.”

I didn’t let her finish. I hung up.

Grayson didn’t know how to take no for an answer, and that scared me more than anything. Not just because of how persistent he was… but because I didn’t know if I wanted to keep saying no.

I needed clarity. Direction. Something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

So when I got a last-minute booking for a private dinner event on Saturday, I jumped at it. The coordinator said she got my contact through a referral… one of those high-end events with strict protocols, elegant presentation, and a full-course plated dinner. Twenty guests. No press. Confidential.

It was the kind of job that used to make me feel like I belonged.

I said yes without asking too many questions.

The venue was ridiculous in a good way. Glass walls, a marble staircase, chandeliers shaped like cascading crystals, and a patio that overlooked the lake. The jazz music floated in the background like smoke, and I let myself pretend, for a few hours, that nothing was wrong.

I was in my element. Focused. Precise. My team moved like a well-oiled machine. We’d already served the starters, and I was checking on the kitchen timing when one of the servers came up to me, looking nervous.

“Chef Cross?”

I turned.

“They asked for you to present the main course to table four. Personally.”

I paused. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Um… the host. Said it would be an honor to meet the chef behind the food.”

I didn’t think much of it. Some guests loved the theatrics. I grabbed the plated dishes, checked the garnishes, and walked through the floor.

Table four was at the far end of the patio under a gold heater. Five men. Older, powerful-looking. The kind of people who owned companies without anyone knowing their names.

And him.

Grayson.

I froze.

There he was, wearing a dark navy suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone like he didn’t have a care in the world. He had a glass of bourbon in one hand and that smug, knowing look in his eyes like this was all part of his plan.

I swear my soul hiccuped.

He stood. “Chef Cross,” he said, smooth as ever.

The men at the table turned to me.

“Gentlemen,” Grayson added, “this is my girlfriend, Janelle.”

I blinked.

Girlfriend?

My mind screamed, Say something. Say anything.

But he held my gaze. There was something in his eyes… pleading, almost. As if this meant more than just a show.

I smiled the fakest smile of my life.

“Good evening,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to be here tonight.”

The men greeted me warmly. One asked how long we’d been “an item.”

I said, “Long enough to know when he’s up to something.”

They laughed. Grayson chuckled.

He introduced them one by one… some high-ranking government guy, a startup billionaire, a retired athlete. One of them handed me a card.

“You should cater my daughter’s wedding in Tuscany. We’re planning something intimate… only two hundred guests.”

I nodded. “I’d love to.”

Lie.

I barely remembered how I got back to the kitchen. My face was hot. My hands were shaking. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to walk out.

But I didn’t.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I didn’t look his way again. Didn’t check to see if he was still watching me.

Of course, he was.

When the dinner was done and my team started packing up, I grabbed my coat and walked out toward the front lobby, praying he was gone.

He wasn’t.

“Janelle,” he said, stepping into my path.

“No,” I said immediately.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Let me guess—another apology? A PR offer wrapped in flattery and money?”

His expression faltered. “I miss you.”

I scoffed. “You miss control.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You ran a DNA test behind my back. You hid the fact that yoy were investigating me privately. You used me for a PR stunt. You humiliated me before yours friends or associates… whatever they are.”

“I didn’t plan this tonight,” he said softly. “Holden booked the dinner. I had no idea you’d be here.”

I stared at him.

“I swear, Janelle. But when I saw you, I had to try.”

“You should’ve stayed seated.”

“I couldn’t.”

He took a step closer.

I stepped back.

“I need space,” I said.

“I’ll give it,” he promised. “But please… don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not shutting you out, Grayson,” I said quietly. “I’m building a wall.”

He didn’t respond.

I left without another word.

At home, I poured myself a glass of wine and opened my laptop.

Three missed calls from Lisa, my ex-business partner.

I ignored them.

I opened my inbox. A new message waited at the top.

No subject. No name. Just a link.

My stomach turned.

I clicked it anyway.

The screen flickered, then loaded a video.

A woman. Laughing.

Eden Larose.

She looked older. Softer. Her hair was longer. She was in someone’s backyard, holding a toddler. Someone called her name off-camera, and she turned and smiled.

The video cut off.

Black screen.

I couldn’t breathe.

The timestamp said six months ago.

Six months.

My heart slammed in my chest.

I closed the laptop slowly, like it might explode.

She was alive.

Everything I thought I knew… was wrong