Chloe stayed over at my place that night and invited Gavin to watch a romantic movie. On-screen, the lead couple embraced passionately, their love filling the room with an air of intimacy.

Chloe's eyes sparkled with anticipation. She turned to look at Gavin, waiting—hoping—for something—anything.

But Gavin wasn't watching the movie. He was staring at his phone, his fingers gently tracing my profile picture.

Chloe's expression darkened instantly. She forced a smile, about to say something, but Gavin spoke before she could.

He rubbed his temples, his voice lacing with exhaustion. "Chloe, I'm heading to bed. You can finish the movie alone. Let me know if you need anything."

Chloe clenched her fists but kept her tone light. "Alright, Gavin. Rest well."

As soon as he shut the bedroom door, her mask cracked. She grabbed a stuffed animal from the couch, her fingers tightening around its neck.

"Die! Sandra, you should just die!"

She dug her nails into the fabric, strangling it before delivering a few vicious punches. Only then did her rage subside.

And then, suddenly, she started laughing. "It's fine. Gavin will be mine. Completely mine."

I wished Gavin could see her now. The "little sister" he cherished so much—she had never seen him as family.

And now that I was gone, he could finally be with her. Wasn't that what he wanted all along?

…

Day four of our silent treatment was day two of my body's reconstruction.

My remains were slowly taking shape. All that was left was to restore the deep, bone-deep wounds.

Steven inhaled sharply. "182 knife wounds… She was tortured to death."

Gavin's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Has anyone come forward to claim the body? It's been four days. No missing person reports?"

"Nope. Maybe she was homeless."

I let out a bitter laugh. Of course, Gavin hadn't checked in on me. He thought we were still locked in a standoff, both too stubborn to reach out. The idea that I was missing had never even crossed his mind.

Gavin picked up my foot, tilting it toward Steven. "See this shape? Only ballet dancers have this kind of deformity. Her skin is smooth, pale—she was well-off. My guess? She was a dancer."

Then his hand froze. His gaze locked onto my ankle.

Something caught his eye. A pause. Then, a sharp breath.

"Steel pins," he murmured.

There were two small metal pins inside my ankle. It was the result of a surgery I'd had after a fracture last year. It was something no one else could have.

Something uniquely mine. And at last, Gavin realized.

"Sandra?"

Finally, my name left his lips.