Some truths don't set you free. They burn the cage down
A week passed, but the world didn't feel lighter.
Everyone said things like "you're safe now" or "it's finally over", yet my body hadn't caught up. My mind still felt like it was walking through smoke, like danger could still crawl out of the shadows if I blinked too long.
So, I threw myself into work.
The office was quiet—too quiet. Only the soft hum of the AC and the clicking of my keyboard filled the space as I reviewed financial sheets that blurred together the longer I stared at them.
A knock pulled me back.
I looked up to see Mrs. Kent standing at the doorway, carrying a cardboard box stacked so high with papers I was shocked she could lift it.
"Miss Montez," she said, shifting the weight against her hip. "These were left over from Mr. Montez's time. Old reports, documents, archived materials... I wasn't sure what should be tossed."
I stood up. "I'll check them. Leave it here."
She nodded, placed the box near my desk, and slipped out quietly. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the past, boxed neatly, waiting.
I exhaled slowly.
For a moment I didn't move.
My hands hovered above the files like they were something venomous.
When I finally reached inside, I pulled out the first stack. Faded financial reports, audits from before 2010, old project summaries. Nothing useful. Nothing threatening.
My pulse steadied.
Then my fingers brushed something different—thicker, heavier. A book with a stiff spine and glossy cover.
I frowned.
"How to Be a Good Businessman. Hacks and Highs."
I couldn't stop myself from letting out a dry, humorless laugh. Victor would buy something like this. He always pretended he was a self-made genius when the truth was that he only learned how to break people, not run companies.
I lifted the book... And a folded piece of paper slid out and fell to the floor like a feather collapsing.
I froze.
Carefully, I picked it up. It felt too light for what I already sensed it might hold. I unfolded it slowly; each crease peeling back another layer of dread.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was a medical file. From years ago. 2018, to be exact.
And the patient's name was written in a crisp black font:
SOPHIE MONTEZ.
My fingers trembled.
I scanned the lines, each word slamming into me.
Haloperidol.
Alcohol.
Unconsciousness.
My stomach turned.
Haloperidol wasn't a mistake. It wasn't something someone accidentally ingested. It was deliberate. Controlled. Used for sedation. And if it was mixed with alcohol, it could make a person unconscious, or even die.
But the line that hollowed my chest was the date.
20th May, 2018. My fifteenth birthday.
My body went cold.
I remembered... the milkshake.
Victor had handed it to me with a smile too wide to be genuine. He said he wanted to "try again," that maybe he could be better for me. I was so stupid then. I believed him for an hour. I thought maybe, just maybe, he actually cared.
But that night, everything went black. Right before we got to the park.
I woke up in a hospital. The police told me they had found me at the same park. They said it was a "close call."
A dosage error? An accident?
No.
No.
No.
This file said otherwise. Victor had wanted me unconscious. Gone. Removed.
And then he wanted to hide it, bury it, frame it as something I did to myself.
My chest tightened, breath turning thin and shaky.
He'd always hated me.
But this... this was different.
This was purposeful. Planned.
This was intent.
I gripped the edge of my desk to keep myself steady. The room tilted, swaying like it wasn't sure what to do with me standing there, breaking all over again.
A light knock pulled me from the spiraling.
Grey stepped in, the moment he saw my face, his expression changed—eyes sharpening, posture shifting, all alert focus.
"Sophie?" he asked softly, carefully. "What happened?"
I lifted the paper. My hand shook.
"This... this was in Victor's things." My voice cracked. "It's a medical report. From when I was fifteen."
He stepped closer, slowly, giving me space while still staying near.
"I never went near alcohol, Grey. Not then. Not ever." My voice trembled. "It wasn't an accident. He did this. He drugged me. He probably thought I was dead when he left me at the park..."
Grey's jaw clenched, eyes burning with a mixture of rage and grief. But he didn't explode. He didn't panic. He just pulled me gently into his arms.
And for a moment, I let myself collapse against him quietly, silently. My body didn't shake this time. It simply folded with the weight of the truth I had carried unknowingly for years.
After a long moment, Grey whispered, "You're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore."
Safe.
I wanted to believe that word so badly.
The estate was quiet when we returned. Autumn air lingered in the halls, crisp and slightly cold. I didn't turn on any lights.
I walked straight to the fireplace.
Grey followed silently, not touching me, but close enough that I felt him there—steady, grounding.
I held the medical file between my fingers. The paper felt thin, fragile... but it carried years of pain.
Years of lies.
I crouched down, opened the iron grate, and struck a match. The flame trembled just like my hands.
I whispered—not to Grey, not to myself, but to the girl I was at fifteen.
"I'm sorry you went through this."
I dropped the paper into the fire.
The edges curled instantly, turning from white to a burning gold, then to charred black. The flames consumed the truth with a quiet hunger, eating away the words that had haunted me without my knowledge.
I did something that Victor forgot to do. Destroy the bitter truth.
Grey knelt beside me.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
I watched until the fire turned everything to ash.
Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding for seven years.