I couldn't move.
I couldn't even breathe properly.
There I was—sitting on the cold marble floor, surrounded by silence and blood, beside the woman who once called me everything from a whore to a seductress. The same woman who had just tried to claw my face off. Now she was sprawled across the tiles, lifeless, a pool of red slowly crawling away from the back of her skull like it had somewhere to go.
And I was frozen.
Absolutely, terrifyingly frozen.
I bit down on my fingers like I could gnaw my way through the panic, like chewing on my knuckles could stop me from screaming or fainting or losing my mind. I stared at her—at Anne—watching her still chest, watching her lips that used to spill venom now sealed in silence.
I should have hated her. I should have stood up and walked away like she deserved.
But I couldn't.
Because I didn't mean to hurt her.
And now she might be…
No. Don't say it.
My phone buzzed beside me, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. I stared at it like it was a foreign object. I didn't move.
My mind was spinning in three directions at once. What if it was the police already? What if Jim had installed a camera in my room and just watched everything that happened found a way to blame this on me and tipped someone off? What if—
The phone rang again.
I didn't have the strength to speak.
And yet, on the third ring, my shaking fingers reached for it. I could barely hold it steady as I pressed the screen to my ear.
"He…llo?" My voice cracked like glass.
"Hey, beautiful," a familiar voice responded gently. "This is Carl. I guess you didn't save my number earlier."
The moment I heard him—Carl—something inside me shattered.
I burst into tears.
I didn't mean to. I didn't plan to. I just… fell apart. Completely.
The sobs ripped through my throat like I'd been holding them in for ten years. I clutched the phone tighter as if I could reach through it and find safety in his voice.
"Hey… hey, what's wrong?" Carl said immediately, his voice shifting to worry. "Sidney? What happened?"
"She's dead," I whispered, choking on every syllable.
"Who?" he asked, his voice lowering in disbelief.
"Anne," I cried. "I—killed her. She's gone."
Silence.
I heard his breathing on the other end. I imagined him frozen in place, just like I was.
"I'll be there," he said after a beat, sharp and focused. "I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm calling for an ambulance. Just… stay where you are, okay? Don't move. Don't do anything."
"I…" I tried to say more, tried to ask him to stay on the line, to talk to me, to promise this wasn't the end of everything—but he hung up.
The call ended.
The room went quiet again.
And I was left with nothing but my heartbeat pounding like a war drum in my ears.
I looked down at Anne's body. I still couldn't process the image. Her lips slightly parted, eyes shut tight. The floor under her head was sticky. Blood. Dark, frightening blood.
This wasn't just a hit to the head. What if something inside her cracked? What if she was bleeding internally?
I stood slowly, legs shaking. My breath came in shallow bursts, and I began pacing like a caged animal. I reached the front door, my fingers grazing the handle.
Run.
The voice in my head was firm, familiar.
Run, Sidney. You've trained for things like this. You've survived worse. You can disappear. You've done it before.
My eyes flicked back to Anne.
Leave her.
She'd leave you.
I stood there, hand on the doorknob, thoughts swirling like a tornado in my head.
I imagined the headlines. Housekeeper kills boss in violent fight. I imagined my picture on every news station, dragged through the mud like I was born for scandal.
I'd be deported. Detained. Disgraced.
My knees weakened.
I was halfway to turning the knob when—
Something cold grabbed my wrist.
I screamed.
It wasn't loud. It was short. Sharp. Like a gasp turned into a knife.
I looked down—
And Anne's hand was clutching my wrist.
She's alive.
I stumbled backward so hard I hit the wall. My breath caught in my throat. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.
Anne groaned.
Low, guttural. Like a dying engine coming back to life.
I watched as her fingers twitched. Her head moved slightly. Her chest rose—a fraction, but it rose.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
She wasn't dead.
She wasn't dead.
I wanted to scream in joy and terror at the same time.
"Anne?" I whispered, inching closer, trembling. "Can you hear me?"
She winced, her face tightening with pain. Her eyes fluttered.
Oh my God.
She was breathing. She was groaning. She was…
I dropped back to my knees, this time next to her head—not touching her, just watching.
What was I supposed to do now?
Help her?
Call Carl back and tell him she was alive?
Tell her I was sorry?
Tell her I didn't mean it?
My hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do with themselves. I wanted to cry again. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to faint for real this time.
The door burst open.
Carl.
His expression shifted the second he saw me. He rushed over, eyes scanning me for blood, injuries, signs of trauma.
"She's alive," I whispered.
His gaze shifted to Anne. Then to the blood. Then back to me.
"She was attacking me," I said quickly, as if he needed the whole story right now. "I didn't mean to. I pushed her. She hit her head. I thought—"
"You'll explain later," Carl said calmly. He knelt down beside Anne and checked her pulse, his training kicking in like it was muscle memory.
"She's alive," he confirmed. "Weak, but stable. We'll wait for the ambulance."
I leaned against the wall again, my limbs finally giving out. Carl moved fast, professional—his concern only showing in flickers behind his eyes.