"Angel, I know where you are. You might want to run away from me, but I promise you, I'll come fetch you."
Her eyes moved over the words on the screen, and the meaning behind them seemed to bloom in her mind with an intensity that felt almost unbearable.
It was as if every letter of that message carried a weight, pressing down on her chest until she struggled to breathe.
Her heart responded with a fierce, almost deafening rhythm, the rapid pounding echoing in her ears like the footsteps of someone relentlessly pursuing her. The air around her felt thinner, colder, and every shallow, uneven breath she took seemed to amplify the feeling of dread that coiled within her like a living, writhing entity.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the phone, her mind racing in a chaotic blur of thoughts.
Should she delete the message?
Would that erase the threat that now hung over her like a storm cloud, dark and unrelenting?
But just as her thumb hovered over the screen, ready to act, the sudden shrill sound of an incoming call pierced through the silence like a dagger.
Angel froze, her pulse hitching as she glanced at the caller ID. The name on the screen sent a shiver through her entire body.
Her father.
Of course, it would be him. He always had a way of finding her, of inserting himself into her life at the worst possible moments, as though he thrived on her vulnerability.
The phone vibrated relentlessly in her hand, a constant reminder that she couldn't avoid him forever, but the mere thought of answering felt like stepping into a trap.
Memories flooded her mind—memories of his cold indifference, his calculated decisions that had torn her world apart, and the way he had always prioritized his image over her well-being.
She wanted to believe that his call came from a place of concern, but deep down, she couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that it was just another ploy, another attempt to control her.
Her fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles white from the pressure as the ringing finally ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
A shaky breath escaped her lips, and with trembling hands, she powered off the device, severing the connection to the world she was no longer certain she could trust.
Every emotion inside her felt raw, exposed, and overwhelming, but she fought to contain it, to keep the tears from spilling over.
Weakness was something she had vowed never to show again. Not after everything she had endured. She wasn't ready to let anyone see the cracks in her armor, not Tryson, not her father—no one.
Seeking solace, Angel stepped out onto the balcony, the cool evening air wrapping around her like an unwelcome embrace.
The stars above twinkled with a kind of distant indifference, their beauty mocking the turmoil that churned inside her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as the cold seeped into her skin, but she welcomed the sensation—it grounded her, reminded her that she was still standing, still fighting.
Her thoughts spiraled into a tangled web of pain and memories, each one sharper than the last.
Her father's betrayal had been the first crack in her foundation, a wound that had never truly healed. His decision to cast her and her mother aside had forced her to grow up too fast, to navigate a world that seemed determined to break her.
And when she lost her mother—the only person who had ever truly loved her—she had felt as though the ground beneath her had been ripped away, leaving her to stumble through life on unsteady legs.
And now, there was Tryson.
The man who had pulled her into this storm with his promises and his lies. She had let herself believe, if only for a moment, that he might be different, that he might see her as more than a pawn in his games.
But the reality of their arrangement, the cold, unfeeling nature of their contract, was a constant reminder that trust was a luxury she could no longer afford.
She lifted her gaze to the horizon, her jaw tightening as her resolve solidified. She would show him—show all of them—that she was more than their mistakes, more than the scars they had left on her soul.
She was Angel Johnson: fierce, unyielding, and ready to fight for her own happiness, even if it meant standing alone.
In another part of the house, Tryson stood frozen, his head bowed as the weight of his own choices pressed down on him like an unbearable burden.
Every sharp word she had spoken, every glance filled with anger and hurt, played over in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.
He clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way that felt almost uncontrollable.
He slammed his hand against the door, the sharp sting of pain barely registering as he let out a growl of anguish. He had never felt this way before, never allowed himself to care enough to feel this kind of guilt, this kind of longing.
Tryson Bliss.
The man who had everything, who could charm his way out of any situation.
And yet, here he was, undone by a woman who refused to fall at his feet, who challenged him in ways he never thought possible.
Angel was a force of nature, a whirlwind of strength and vulnerability that left him feeling both awed and helpless.
He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts a chaotic mess of regret and determination.
He knew he had hurt her, knew that his actions had driven a wedge between them that might never be repaired. But he also knew that giving up wasn't an option.
He would fight for her, for her trust, for her forgiveness, even if it took everything he had.
For the first time in his life, Tryson wasn't chasing power or pleasure. He was chasing redemption, and he would endure whatever it took to earn it.