OBSESSION

ONE.

Bethany Scott stood in the middle of her new townhome, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh paint. The movers navigated around her, lifting and shuffling the few pieces she owned, while she took in the polished wood floors and stark white walls, marveling that this—finally—was her space. Her own start.

The drive from Temecula to Seattle was short in miles but felt like a lifetime. Here, in this city with its damp, moody skies and unfamiliar faces, she'd build a life that was hers alone. Independence, she thought with a quiet, bitter laugh. If it weren't for her stepfather's money, she wouldn't be here at all. A couple of phone calls, a check in her account, and that was that.

But at least it was beautiful. The room was bathed in late afternoon light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a full view of downtown Seattle's heartbeat below.

Bethany had wanted those windows open to the world, to start again with nothing hidden. No blinds, no curtains. Just a clean slate.

The clatter of a box falling onto the hardwood snapped her out of her thoughts. One of the movers, a tall, grizzled man with scuffed boots, gave her a half-hearted shrug.

"Where you want this?" he grunted, gesturing to the box labeled "Kitchen" in thick Sharpie.

She pointed silently toward the kitchen, and he dragged it away without another glance. She'd barely opened her mouth to protest when her phone buzzed, pulling her attention to the screen.

Mom.

Bethany stared at the name for a long moment, debating. She'd fought tooth and nail to make this move, convinced her mother that distance would be good for her. A fresh start was what she needed, not the constant reminders of her past. But her mother had nearly sabotaged her job to keep her from leaving, claiming it was too risky, too unknown.

Against her better judgment, Bethany answered.

"Bethany!" Her mother's voice broke with both relief and reprimand. "Why haven't you been answering? I've been worried sick."

"I'm moving, Mom," Bethany replied, exhaling as she watched the movers continue to pile boxes by the kitchen. "I don't have time to check my phone every ten minutes."

"Oh, I know, but Seattle is so big, so full of strangers... Anything could happen."

Bethany braced herself, fingers tightening on the phone. "The worst has already happened, Mom. I'll be fine here. It's safe."

"You say that, but how do you know? Does it feel safe?"

Bethany scanned the empty space, the blank walls. Here, at least, there was no past to cling to her, no whispers or stares reminding her of who she'd been. In Seattle, she was free to be whoever she wanted—maybe even the person she was meant to be.

"Mom," she replied firmly, "I need to go. I'll be fine."

A pause, her mother's breath a soft sigh. "Alright. But make sure you eat something tonight, and nothing greasy."

"Love you, Mom," Bethany managed before hanging up. She pressed the phone against her forehead, willing herself to feel grounded, steady.

As she reached for the first box to unpack, a man in heavy boots shuffled over, hand outstretched. Payment.

Bethany rolled her eyes, grabbed her wallet, and handed him a couple of bills.

"Four-fifty," he muttered.

"You said two hundred for two hours," she argued.

"Three hours, miss. Goes up two-fifty per."

Bethany stared, biting back a retort. The movers hadn't exactly been speedy, but she handed him the extra cash, watching as he left with a cocky grin.