Chapter 5: The Bath and the Confrontation

Dressed, I lay in the bathtub. The steam fogged up the mirror, blurring the Walgreens bottle of Tylenol on the counter. Wrapped in hot water, listening to the splashing, I finally felt like I was back in reality.

I’d just received a package of Jason’s belongings today. Just an hour ago, I’d been at his grave. But separated by a wall, his voice was so clear.

"Rachel, what’s up with your fiancé, anyway? I saw the messages you got. It’s not the first time, right? And that guy’s face..."

The topic I’d been avoiding, he brought up again. Yes. Michael’s assistant wasn’t the first to send me these kinds of photos. But so what? I didn’t care.

I watched the steam curling from the water, the reflection of my face wobbly in the faucet, and for a second, I almost felt nothing at all. That was the scariest part.

"Six years ago, my mom remarried—a rich guy. It’s not love, Jason. It’s business. You just happened to look like the right investment."

Jason probably didn’t get it. He fell silent. Only the sound of footsteps, soft and shuffling, stretched from the living room to the bathroom.

Remembering his wall-walking trick earlier, I frowned and asked, "Jason, you’re not trying to peep at me bathing, are you?"

No answer, only a tall figure reflected in the glass door. Do ghosts have shadows?

I wondered, stood up, and changed into a bathrobe. But the one I saw when I opened the door wasn’t Jason.

It was Michael—who, by all rights, should have been with his assistant at a hotel. His cologne hit me first—Tom Ford, expensive and suffocating. He was holding a photo he’d found among Jason’s things, looking at me with a dark, unreadable gaze. His Brooks Brothers shirt looked freshly pressed, but his tie was loose, like he’d yanked it off in a rush. The air in the bathroom seemed to turn cold.

"I was sick and you brought me medicine, I had a date and you brought me condoms in the rain, you’ve chased after me for six years, all because of this face? Jason? That’s the name you call every time you get drunk."

Michael’s words made my heart skip a beat. Instinctively, I looked at Jason, who was floating out of the office.

But Michael wasn’t done. He raised an eyebrow and suddenly smiled, his tone casual and sharp. "Who’s here, Rachel? Or are you talking to yourself again?"