Scars of Betrayal: The Heiress They Tried To Erase

The ceiling of the guest room in Kia's apartment was unfamiliar. It had a water stain in the corner shaped like a bruised lung. Kelsie stared at it, counting the cracks in the plaster, trying to ignore the jackhammer pounding against the inside of her skull.

Three days.

She had been gone for three days.

Seventy-two hours of silence. Seventy-two hours of staring at a phone that didn't ring, then did ring, then didn't ring again. The screen was dark now, face down on the nightstand.

The door creaked open. Kia walked in, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. She looked like she hadn't slept much either. She set the mug down on the coaster with a soft clink.

"You look like hell, Kelsie," she said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Did you sign the separation papers in your dreams?"

Kelsie sat up, the room spinning slightly. She reached for the coffee, needing the heat to seep into her cold fingers. "I didn't dream. I just... waited."

"For him?" Kia asked, her voice sharp.

Kelsie didn't answer. She picked up her phone. The message thread with Judge was open. The last message was from her, sent three days ago: I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving.

Below it, there was nothing. No blue bubble. No 'Read' receipt. Just empty white space.

"He hasn't even noticed I'm gone," Kelsie whispered, her chest tightening. It felt like a physical weight, a heavy stone pressing down on her sternum.

Kia sighed, a long, frustrated sound. "He noticed. He's just playing his games. The Silent Treatment is his favorite sport, remember?" She stood up and pulled the curtains open. The Boston skyline was gray and dreary. "Come on. We need food. Greasy, unhealthy diner food. And fresh air."

Half an hour later, they were in Kia's red sedan, driving through the damp streets. The city lights blurred in the rearview mirror. Kelsie leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the world pass by.

"You know," Kia said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "You could just block his number. Make it real."

"It is real," Kelsie said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Ahead of them, traffic began to slow. Brake lights painted the wet asphalt in streaks of red.

"Great," Kia groaned. "What now?"

Kelsie squinted through the windshield. It wasn't construction.

Blue lights.

Flashes of red and blue bounced off the buildings, rhythmic and jarring. A line of cars was being funneled into a single lane.

"DUI checkpoint," Kia said, checking the time on the dashboard. "It's barely nine p.m. on a Tuesday? Seriously?"

Kelsie's stomach dropped. A cold prickle of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. It was an irrational reaction. She wasn't driving. She hadn't been drinking. But the sight of those lights, the uniform, the authority... it triggered a reflex she had developed over five years of marriage.

The line moved slowly. She sank lower in the passenger seat, pulling