My boss attempted to change my mind, but once he recognized my resolve, he accepted my resignation letter.
Following the standard procedure, I would be free to leave after completing this week’s tasks.
At ten that evening, while mingling with colleagues at a gathering, Lucian called.
A male coworker accidentally answered, and when I took the call, Lucian's voice was cold. “Savannah, where are you at this hour?”
I simply replied, “Out.”
“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you,” he commanded before abruptly hanging up.
After sending him my location, I waited until the store closed, but he never showed up.
Checking Ophelia’s social media, I found a post about her feeling ill and attached to an IV, which didn’t surprise me.
I took a cab home alone, took a shower, and went to bed.
Around three in the morning, Lucian returned, dusty and exhausted, shaking me awake.
He said coldly, “Savannah, I’m hungry. Make me some tacos.”
He had never been fond of tacos, but I knew who he wanted them for.
I attempted to withdraw my hand, but I felt the scar etched into the back of his hand.
If it hadn’t been for Lucian that day the school auditorium caught fire, I would probably be dead.