Page 47 of Shattered By Grace

Drawers had been yanked open, their contents strewn across the floor. Clothes were everywhere, tossed and trampled. Her mattress had been flipped, the sheets discarded on the floor like a lifeless body. Her jewelry box lay shattered on the floor, its contents scattered except for one thing.

Her ruby necklace. The one her father gave her when she was younger. It was gone.

A note, placed carefully on her pillow, caught her eye. The edges were pristine, as if whoever left it had taken their time and wanted it to be seen. Dread crawled up her throat as she snatched it up, fingers tightening around the paper.

Her lungs constricted. The words felt like a noose tightening around her neck.

How long have they been watching? Weeks? Months? The apartment walls pressed in on her, the air suddenly too thin. She could almost feel eyes on her, even though she was alone. Wasn’t she?

She spun around, her back pressing against the wall, eyes darting around the room.Move. You have to move. But her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Fear held her captive, an iron grip around her limbs.

A faint meow reached her from under the bed. Relief flooded her as she pulled Clawdia into her arms, feeling the tremor in her tiny body. But relief quickly turned to dread as she scanned the wreckage. Something was wrong, really wrong.

She clutched Clawdia tighter, her mind racing. The gym had all her information. Her address, her name. They must’ve put it together. She wasn’t just some random girl. She was Victor Grace's daughter. The thought made her stomach lurch. If they knew, she was in more danger than she’d ever imagined.

Victoria dialed 911, her hands shaking as she tried to keep her voice steady. “Hi, I need to report a break-in."

The dispatcher on the other end asked if there were any damages and if anything was missing.

"Yes, there are damages to my apartment." A shudder rolled down her body. "A necklace and some old photos."

“An officer will be dispatched to your location,” the dispatcher said.

Victoria hung up, feeling a pang of frustration. She knew that the police might take a report, but if the Lockes were involved, she doubted they’d get far in investigating. The Lockes' reach made trusting the police feel almost pointless.

“Damn it,” she muttered, pacing the living room as panic clawed at her insides. She didn’t have Justin’s number. She couldn’t reach Tristan or Tyson. She was completely alone, and her safe space had been violated, turned upside down by people who clearly wanted something from her or worse.

What do I do?she thought frantically. Was she supposed to show up at work tomorrow and act like everything was fine? But nothing was fine. Her world had been ripped apart, and she was completely alone.

Victoria stood in the wreckage of what was once her apartment, the bitter sight of overturned furniture and shattered glass left a metallic taste in her mouth. The cops had come and gone, their questions routine, their concern minimal. Another break-in, another unsolved case in the city that never slept.

She exhaled sharply, hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess.

“Well, this is just fucking fantastic,” she muttered, stepping over the broken lamp that had once stood proudly beside hercouch. “Nothing says ‘welcome back to New York’ like a home invasion.”

Grabbing a dustpan, she crouched down, sweeping up the shards of glass from the broken picture frames. Fragments of her carefully constructed life lay scattered around her, a cruel reminder that she was never truly safe.

As she worked, her mind refused to quiet.The rose. The note. The Lockes. Justin. Razer.

She threw a broken piece of wood across the room, watching it clatter against the floor. “What the hell is going on?”

Her pulse pounded as she continued cleaning, each movement sharp, fueled by the frustration and fear brewing inside her. She had spent the last ten years building a life, staying under the radar. And now, in less than a week, it was unraveling.

She sank onto the edge of the couch, rubbing her temples. “You should’ve never come back.”

But she knew that wasn’t an option.

When the living room was as clean as it was going to get, she hesitated before stepping toward her bedroom. A heavy weight settled in her stomach.

She pushed the door open.

Seeing that neatly made bed was overturned, her dresser drawers open and empty Victoria sighed. It wasn’t the mess that made her chest tighten. It was the single rose left on her pillow, its deep red petals stark against the white fabric.

After stuffing the last of the destruction into garbage bags, she let out a slow breath. The exhaustion from the day settled in, pressing against her bones like lead. She needed a shower, something to wash away the tension clinging to her like a second skin.

Victoria cranked the shower on, the hot water crashing against her skin in a sharp sting. The steam blurred the mirror,and she let the heat swallow her, hoping it would wash away the fear clinging to her. It didn’t.

She scrubbed at her skin, the rough washcloth scraping against her body with an urgency she couldn’t control, as if she could scrub away the sense of violation, the dread of being exposed. The water felt like it couldn’t cleanse her enough.

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