Silent Dreams Never Die — Author: John Miller 341
Scarlett bit down hard on her lip, afraid Violet might hear the sob rising in her throat.
Hearing only silence on the line, Violet asked softly, “Scarlett?”
Drawing a shaky breath, Scarlett pressed her lips together. “Violet, I… I can’t make it back tonight.”
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“Is everything alright?” Violet’s voice grew concerned. “Did something happen at work? Or is someone giving you trouble?”
“It’s neither,” Scarlett lied. “Just… a lot of overtime.”
“But you haven’t been home in so long,” Violet persisted gently. “Nathan and Clara miss you. Your parents are always asking about you.”
A choked sob escaped before Scarlett could stop it. She quickly covered her mouth. “I’ll be back in a few days, Violet. I have to go–a patient’s family needs me.”
Without waiting for a reply, she ended the call.
After hanging up, she picked up the apple Claire had peeled for her and took a mechanical bite.
Tears streamed down her face as she chewed.
Claire watched, her own heart aching.
The bruises covering Scarlett’s body hadn’t faded overnight–they’d darkened, a stark map of the violence she’d endured. It was clear how brutally she’d been hit.
When Scarlett finished the apple, she wiped her hands with a tissue.
Then she reached for her phone again.
Unlocking it, she dialed the police station.
After a few rings, a man’s voice answered. “Hello.”
“This is Scarlett Theron,” she said, her voice tight. “I filed a report shortly after two a.m. last night. I’m calling to ask if there’s any update–if you’ve reviewed the surveillance footage yet.”
There was a pause on the other end. “We’ve looked into it, ma’am. But without a clear evidence chain, we can’t proceed with any arrests.”
Hearing the dismissive tone, Scarlett’s composure snapped. “No evidence? What about the
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Chapter 341 Evasive Lies and a Hollow Laugh
injuries all over my body?”
Finished
The officer responded slowly, almost casually. “And how do we know you didn’t inflict those on yourself?”
Scarlett felt a surge of furious disbelief. “Why would I do that? Do you think I’m insane?”
He gave a short, mocking laugh. “Well, you are in the hospital, aren’t you?”
For a moment, Scarlett was too stunned to cry. Instead, a hollow, bleak laugh escaped her- filled with utter helplessness.
She didn’t wait to hear more. She hung up.
Of course. If Amanda, Luke, and Naomi had been bold enough to attack her in a hospital room, they’d surely covered their tracks in advance.
Calling the police had been pointless from the start.
Claire had heard the entire exchange. Her expression darkened. “Scarlett, this is Rivergate. Influence runs everything here. Asking ‘the right people‘ for help won’t change that. Sometimes… matters are better settled outside the system.” She leaned closer. “Tell me who did this.”
Scarlett shook her head weakly. “Claire, I don’t want to drag you into this.”
But Claire’s patience was wearing thin. “It’s the Stewarts, isn’t it? I’m not afraid of them.”
Before Scarlett could protest further, Claire turned away, her mind made up. “I may not be able to force an apology out of them, but I can sure make them hurt a little.”
She knew her own limits–but she also knew someone who didn’t have
any.
Seeing her determination, Scarlett didn’t argue
further.
Scarlett spent the rest of the day resting in bed.
With Claire there, the heavy loneliness lifted slightly.
By evening, Claire mentioned she needed to leave–she had a livestream to host.
Scarlett had no real reason to ask her to stay. “Okay,” she said quietly.
But her fear must have shown,
Noticing her unease, Claire quickly added, “Actually, I’ll just do the stream from the bathroom here. I’m not going anywhere.”
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Only then did Scarlett relax a little.
The terror of the previous night still clung to her.
She couldn’t face another evening alone in that quiet, vulnerable room.
Even with Claire in the adjacent bathroom, Scarlett remained on edge.
Her eyes kept drifting to the door, her nerves taut.
Inside the bathroom, Claire started her livestream, offering a brief apology to her followers for the missed upload earlier in the day.
Meanwhile, miles away, Zachary was idly watching Claire’s stream, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand. He took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on his phone screen.
Just then, a scrolling comment caught his attention–a crude, provocative message from a user named Damian Rivergate.
“Hey host, how much of a tip do I need to send to get a private night with you?”
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