My Fingerprint Was Never Saved, but Her Lock Was Always Open Chapter 04

My Fingerprint Was Never Saved, but Her Lock Was Always Open Chapter 04

Before I could react, Gavin was already out of the car and pulling open the rear passenger door.

Cold night air rushed in and struck my face, sending a shiver through me.

I got out and stood by the side of the road.

The moment the door closed, I heard Vanessa’s weak voice from the front seat.

“Gavin… take me to the ER. I feel really sick…”

I watched the car disappear down the road, and the whole thing suddenly felt absurd.

The streets were deserted at that hour. My jacket was thin enough that the wind cut straight through it.

I hadn’t wanted to go back to Gavin’s apartment. I truly hadn’t.

But my property transfer deed was still sitting on the desk in his home office.

It was the original my mother had finally mailed from back home after repeated reminders, and it was the only original I had.

If I left it there, the trip she had made to the title company would have been for nothing.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver Gavin’s address.

The cab dropped me off outside his building.

I let myself in with the code he had given me that evening.

Warm yellow light fell across the desk, illuminating my document envelope.

The envelope was open.

The deed inside had been torn in half. The paper was crumpled and covered in large water stains.

The ink had bled, smearing the notary seal and the signatures into an illegible blur.

I picked up the two halves, my fingers trembling against the torn edges.

It was a property transfer deed. My mother was transferring the house back home into my name.

It was originally supposed to be mailed to my apartment, but when Gavin heard about it, he said, “Have her mail it here.”

“I know someone at the county clerk’s recording office. I’ll take care of the filing so your mom doesn’t have to deal with all that.”

Now it was ruined.

To replace it, my mother would have to make another trip to the title company, mail another original, and wait at least another month.

My mother’s health couldn’t handle going through all of that again.

I stared down at two months of work reduced to two torn pieces of paper. A faint shoe print marked one of them.

I called Gavin.

The phone rang for a long time before he finally answered.

His voice was low, edged with exhaustion and impatience.

“I’m at the ER. Vanessa’s on oxygen. What is it?”

“My property transfer deed,” I said. “The one on the desk in your office. Someone tore it up and poured water all over it.”

He was silent for two seconds.

“I can’t deal with that right now. The doctor said if we’d gotten here any later, she could have been in serious danger.”

“That deed was from my mom—”

He cut me off, his voice turning cold, as though he had become someone else.

“Do you seriously have to bring this up right now? Vanessa had an asthma attack, and it could have ended badly. Do you understand that?”

“Just get another deed. Stop blaming her for everything.”

He paused, then added, “She’s still on oxygen. Try to be reasonable.”

The call ended.

A new Instagram post from Vanessa appeared on my phone.

[Had an asthma attack, and Gavin brought me to the ER. Thank God he was there.]

One of the comments read:

[Gavin playing Prince Charming again?]

Suddenly, I felt exhausted.

It wasn’t sadness or anger. It was a bone-deep weariness that seemed to seep through every part of me.

I locked my phone and started putting the torn deed into my bag.

As I gathered the papers, my hand bumped the mouse on the desk.

The computer screen lit up.

A hotel booking site was open, and the My Trips tab showed an unread notification.

[Your stay is complete. Tell us how it went.]

The mouse was right beside me, so I clicked.

The reservation details appeared.

The booking was under Gavin Cole’s name, with Vanessa Hale listed as the second guest. It was for a king room at a hot-springs resort outside the city.

The special-request field read:

[A room with a private mineral soaking tub.]

The reservation was from three months earlier, during the trip Gavin had called a “business trip.”

I froze. It felt as though a fist had closed around everything inside me.

I left the page open.

My eyes moved to a DoorDash shortcut on the browser’s bookmarks bar.

I clicked it.

In the order history, I found a delivery to the same resort from that same weekend three months earlier.

The order had been placed at 10:47 p.m.

It included two cups of mulled wine, a fruit platter, and a box of condoms.

The order had been placed through Gavin’s account.

My eyes stayed fixed on the words “a box of condoms” until the screen went dark and my reflection appeared against the black glass.

I suddenly remembered the message I had sent Gavin that night.

Me: [How’s the business trip? Are you exhausted?]

Gavin replied: [Not bad. Get some sleep.]

So I had gone to sleep.

Meanwhile, he had ordered a box of condoms and had them delivered to the king room he was sharing with Vanessa.

I set the mouse down.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t shake. I didn’t throw or break anything.

I simply pulled my old suitcase from the closet and packed everything I had brought to his apartment.

As the door closed behind me, the electronic lock’s voice echoed through the empty hallway:

“Door locked.”

I didn’t look back.

There was nothing left to look back at.