That Year, the Music Fell into Silence

Today, Julian’s first love, Valerie, returned. The same Valerie who, three months ago, falsely accused me of pushing her down the stairs.

Now I was on the floor. One of the men stepped closer, his hands going to his belt.

“Mr. Sterling, this is your wife. You’re really just throw her away?”

Julian turned his back and walked away. “When you’re finished, dump her in the ocean.”

Cloth tore. Cold air bit into the exposed skin of my back..

Seven days.

Just seven more days. Until my brother’s surgery was over. Until the five million hit the offshore account.

Then, Seraphina Sterling would cease to exist.

Seraphina POV

Even the roar of the casino floor couldn’t drown out the wet, sickening crunch of breaking bones.

My right pinky finger was crushed under a leather shoe.

Mr. Hayes’ jowly face quivered, and a glob of thick, yellow phlegm landed with a wet smack on my hand.

“Already can’t take it, Mrs. Sterling? Julian told us that besides playing the piano, those hands are amazing at… pleasuring men.”

The room was packed with onlookers.

Some held up their phones, recording, others whistled and jeered.

I didn’t scream.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until it bled.

I looked up.

Julian stood by the railing of the VIP lounge on the second floor, swirling a half-empty glass of red wine.

His voice, flat and emotionless, echoed through the speakers.

“Mr. Hayes, enjoy yourself. After all, if Seraphina can’t pay back the debts her family ran up, those hands are useless anyway.”

Another sickening crack.

This time, it was my ring finger.

Mr. Hayes pressed down, grinding his heel from side to side.

“Julian is truly generous! Then I won’t hold back!”

I felt icy sweat trickle down my forehead, soaking into the strands of hair plastered to the grimy floor.

I stared at the figure on the second floor.

Three years ago, it was these very hands Julian had cupped, making a solemn vow.

“Seraphina, if anyone dares to touch your hands, I’ll take their life.”

Now, he was the one twisting the knife.

Because this morning, Valerie had returned from overseas.

His ‘first love’, the one who’d accused me of pushing her down the stairs three months ago, was back after two months of ‘treatment’ abroad.

For months, Julian had ‘atoned’ for Valerie’s ‘suffering’ by inflicting double the torment on me.

I watched from the floor as Mr. Hayes unbuckled his belt.

The laughter around me grew louder.

“Julian, this is your wife, supposedly. Are you really throwing her away?”

Someone shouted up to the second floor.

Julian turned.

“She’s broken. Dump her in the ocean, let the fish have her.”

That was his answer.

My breath hitched.

My left hand, braced on the floor beside me, clawed into the thick carpet. Two of my fingernails tore off with sickening pops.

Mr. Hayes bent down, his greasy hand reaching for my collar.

“Hear that? Your husband doesn’t want you.”

Fabric ripped. Large swaths of my skin were exposed to the cold air.

With my good left hand, I fumbled inside my shirt, pulling out a perfectly folded piece of paper.

A hospital bill.

The ICU, twenty thousand a day.

That was my brother, Caleb’s, life.

Mr. Hayes paused, seeing me clutch the paper to my chest as if guarding my very last breath.

“Two million.”

I said, “Mr. Hayes, if I survive this ‘game,’ I want two million.”

Mr. Hayes stared for a second, then burst into roaring laughter.

“Mrs. Sterling, are you trying to cut a deal with me? Fine! If you down this bottle of liquor and then crawl through my legs, I’ll give you five million, not just two!”

He kicked a bottle of potent vodka towards me.

The bottle slammed into my broken fingers.

Agony ripped through me, making my entire body convulse uncontrollably.

I emptied the bottle.

My stomach felt like it was ablaze, the burning sensation momentarily eclipsing the pain of my shattered fingers.

I crawled on the floor, inch by agonizing inch.

And slowly, I passed between Mr. Hayes’s spread legs.

The entire room fell silent.

Only the frantic clicks of camera shutters filled the air.

Mr. Hayes hadn’t expected me to actually do it. His face twisted into a furious scowl.

He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled on a check, and slapped it onto my face.

“Go buy yourself a coffin!”

I picked up the check with my left hand and saw the number.

Five million.

Enough.

Enough for Caleb’s surgery next week, enough to keep him stable for another six months.

I stumbled to my feet, clutching the bloodstained check.

No one cared about me.

The crowd dispersed, moving on to the next round of revelry.

I staggered out of the hall and reached the edge of the deck.

My phone buzzed.

A bank transfer alert popped up, followed by a screen full of missed FaceTime calls from ‘Julian’-that was before yesterday. Then, a new alert flashed.

From the contact saved as L.

“Package secured. New identity at the dead drop. Wheels up in seven. This is your last window.”

I lifted my gaze to the endless, swallowing dark of the open sea.

I took a photo of the five-million-dollar check and sent it to Dr. Miller at the hospital.

In the chat box, I typed a single word.

“Okay.”

Seven days.

I had to endure him for seven more days.

Just until Caleb’s surgery was complete. Until that money was clean and resting in an offshore account.

Then, Seraphina would cease to be.