Chapter 5

The storage room was cramped, stuffed with wedding boxes, party poppers, unopened bedding, and a few leftover buckets of wall paint.

I stumbled, my lower back slamming into a shelf.

The door slammed shut right in front of me.

I heard the key turn in the lock, clear as day.

I rushed over and pounded on the door.

"Ryan, open up." I shouted.

Ryan called out from the other side, "It's still a few hours until three. Stay in there and cool off. When you've come to your senses, I'll take you to the company so you can explain."

Chloe whispered, "Isn't this going a bit too far?"

Ryan replied, "She needs to be taught a lesson."

I twisted the doorknob with all my strength, but it wouldn't budge.

There were no windows in the storage room, a small vent above the door.

The smell of paint was overwhelming.

My breathing started going haywire.

I'd had asthma since I was a kid, and even though it hardly ever acted up after I grew up, Ryan knew I couldn't stand being trapped in a place like this, with all that paint and no air.

He knew exactly how bad it was for me.

But he locked me in anyway.

My phone had fallen to the floor in the study during the struggle.

I searched all my pockets, but all I found was an old smartwatch.

I'd bought it for Mom when she was in the hospital, but she thought it looked ugly and gave it back to me.

I was in a rush this morning and tossed it in my bag, turns out it somehow ended up in my coat pocket.

With shaky hands, I turned on the screen. Only one bar of signal.

Chloe's voice came from outside. "Ryan, Summer's gone quiet."

Ryan replied, his tone icy. "Don't worry about her. She's always acting like the victim."

My chest was getting tighter and tighter.

I accidentally knocked over a box of party poppers from the shelf, and it hit the floor with a dull thud.

I was gasping for air, barely able to breathe. Clinging to the wall, I forced myself upright, grabbed a metal clothes rod, and tried to reach the small glass vent above the door.

The first swing did nothing.

The second strike sent a jolt through my wrist, making it go numb.

On the third try, the glass finally cracked. A shard slashed across the back of my hand, and blood gushed out.

I ignored the pain, stretching my hand through the opening, fumbling for the keyhole outside the door.

But I still couldn't reach it.

Suddenly, the smartwatch buzzed.

The screen flashed: [Emergency alert sent.]

I had no idea who it was sent to.

And I had no idea who would come.

Outside, Ryan's phone pinged with a notification.

He glanced down at the screen and let out a cold, mocking laugh.

"So you even know how to call for help with your watch now? Summer, drop the act. I'll open the door when you finally admit you were wrong."

I slid down against the door, my breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

The next second, there was a frantic pounding on the door.

Someone shouted, "Property management. Someone inside called the cops, saying they're being illegally detained."

Ryan was clearly panicking.

"Who called the cops?" he demanded.

With my bleeding hand, I pressed down on the watch and heard it mechanically replay the last line of the recording.

The recording played: "He took my inhaler and locked me in the storage room."

Outside, everything went dead silent.

Next thing I heard was the cop's voice.

"Open the door," the cop ordered.