Glimmer in Eternal Night

1
Ten years ago, the Bayport Bridge collapsed. The bridge I built. The disaster claimed dozens of lives.
In the aftermath, my own parents screamed Murderer! in my face and disowned me. The family of one victim doused me in gasoline, ready to burn us both to the ground.
I spent the next decade in prison for it.
When I got out, I changed my name. I found a quiet life as a barista in a small-town coffee shop, a life of peaceful anonymity. I thought, finally, it was over.
Then, my ex-husband, Shawn Duffer, found me.
His construction empire had gone public years ago, and he was now a titan of the industry, basking in the glow of his success. The reporters he brought with him swarmed me, their cameras flashing like a violent storm.
"Ms. Collins!" one of them shouted, "Mr. Duffer has been engaged for a decade but never married. He's been waiting for you all this time!"
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
They had no idea. They didn't know that ten years ago, it was Shawn who let his little mistress slip unqualified people onto the construction team to take kickbacks. And when the bridge crumbled, it was Shawn who let me take the fall.
...
Caught in the blitz of camera flashes, Shawn's face remained a mask of cold composure.
My boss, Pete, was practically vibrating with excitement. He scrambled over for an autograph, then a photo. Seeing me frozen behind the counter, he called out.
"Sue! Come on, get a picture with Mr. Duffer!" he urged, his voice giddy. "This is Shawn Duffer, the youngest billionaire CEO in the country! A photo with him will drive so much traffic to our little shop. I'll even give you a raise!"
My hands, slick with soap and water as I washed a mug, clenched tight. I didn't look up, but the pack of reporters smelled blood. They descended on me in a heartbeat.
"Ms. Collins, so this is where you've been hiding," one sneered, shoving a microphone in my face. "You were once a world-renowned genius of architecture. Now you're washing cups in a cafe. Quite a fall from grace, isn't it?"
Another one pressed closer. "We hear your ex-husband has been waiting for you, postponing his wedding for ten years. What are your thoughts on that?"
I ignored the microphones practically touching my skin, focusing on the simple task in my hands, but the tremble in my fingers betrayed me. I knew Shawn's methods. I didn't believe a word of this "undying love" narrative. My guard was up, every instinct screaming danger.
The standoff hung thick in the air until Shawn stepped in front of me, shielding me from the cameras.
His expression was grim. "This is a private matter between my ex-wife and me," he announced, his voice low and commanding. "We will not be taking any questions. Please leave."
He turned to me then, his gaze deep and impossibly complex. "Alice."
He paused, the name hanging between us like a ghost. "It's been a long time."
Hearing his voice again after all these years sent a tremor through my entire body. My hand spasmed.
Crash.
A coffee mug slipped from my grasp, shattering into a thousand pieces on the tiled floor. A shard of porcelain sliced across the back of my hand. Bright red blood welled up, dripping from my fingertips.
Shawn lunged forward, his face tight with alarm. He gently took my hand. "How could you be so careless?" he murmured, his brow furrowed.
I snatched my hand back as if burned. "Pete, I'm so sorry," I stammered, turning to my boss. "I'll clean this up right away. Just take the cost of the mug out of my paycheck!"
Before Pete could recover from his shock, a bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension from the doorway.
"Shawn, what are you doing here?" a woman called out. "You just disappeared! Your parents and I were so worried!"
I looked up. A woman with a practiced, gentle smile strolled in. She walked right up to Shawn, took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and pressed a light kiss to his lips.
It was Jessica Thorne. The real architect of the Bayport Bridge disaster. Shawn's fiance.
And trailing behind her, their faces etched with disapproval, were the two people who had severed all ties with me ten years ago. My own parents.
Jessicas eyes found mine, and a smug, contemptuous smile played on her lips. "Well, if it isn't the great architect, Alice. Long time no see." She tightened her grip on Shawn's arm. "Oh, by the way, your parents have adopted me now. So I suppose that makes you my big sister, doesn't it?"
My gaze shifted to the two people behind her. My mother and father.
They looked so much older. Their shoulders were stooped, their hair completely white. A thousand tiny needles of pain pricked at my heart. I wondered what they would think if they knew their precious "adopted daughter" was the very person who had sent their real one to prison.
My father saw me and snorted in disgust. "We only have one daughter, Jessica. I find the sight of a murderer who'd risk innocent lives for a quick buck utterly sickening."
My mother's voice was laced with venom. "Shawn, what are you doing with this scum of the earth? It would have been better if she'd just rotted away somewhere."
Their words hung in the air, and suddenly every eye in the coffee shop, including Pete's, was on me, filled with a strange mix of pity and revulsion. I turned away, forcing myself not to meet their gaze, a hard lump of grief lodging itself in my throat.
Shawn let out a heavy sigh. "Don't blame them, Alice. What happened back then... it hit them hard."
He pulled a gold-embossed business card from his jacket and held it out to me. "I owe you more than I can ever repay. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
I didn't refuse the card. I took it with the polite, detached air I'd show any customer, then placed it casually on the counter.
I refused to believe this was anything more than a chance encounter. I had no desire to ever see him again.
Three days later, my phone rang. It was Pete.
"Sue... I'm so, so sorry," he said, his voice strained. "I had no idea who you were. A brilliant architect like you, working in my little shop... it's just not right." He rushed on. "I'm paying you for the full month. I'll wire the money right now. You can... you can take tomorrow off. Don't worry about coming in again."
Before I could say a word, he hung up.
Confused, I tried to call back, only to find he had already blocked my number. A moment later, a text message alert chimed. A deposit of $4,500. He'd even given me an extra 0-0,000. The attached note read:
The extra 1k is for your trouble. We're a small business, Sue. We can't handle this kind of drama. Please, I'm begging you, just stay away.
A cold dread washed over me. This was Shawn's doing.
As if on cue, his name flashed on my screen. I answered.
"Alice," he began, his voice smooth and controlled. "I can't undo the verdict from back then, I hope you understand that. But I will make it up to you in every other way."
He continued, not waiting for a response. "Working as a barista is beneath you. I've already taken care of it. And I've bought you a villa in Bayport. I want you to move there. Jessica... she's young. She doesn't have your experience with complex blueprints. I need you to help her. I'll pay you twenty thousand a month."
My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white.
How dare he?
How dare he be the one to push me into the abyss, to make me the target of the world's hatred, to strip me of my family, only to reappear now, playing the part of a savior, shattering the fragile peace I had built for myself?
How dare he arrogantly orchestrate my life as if he had any right?
"Help" Jessica? He wanted me to be her ghostwriter, the secret genius behind her name.
The thought made me physically ill. I fought to keep my voice steady, my words biting. "Thank you for the generous offer, Mr. Duffer. But I have my own life now. Please, do me the courtesy of staying out of it."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. When he finally spoke, his tone had hardened.
"Don't be stubborn, Alice. A proud, brilliant mind like yours is only truly happy when you're creating. I'm offering you financial security and a way to use your talent again. What more could you possibly want?" His voice dropped, a velvet threat. "If you refuse to accept this out of pride, fine. I have other ways."
He hung up.
A deep, unsettling feeling crept over me.
That afternoon, I learned exactly what his "other ways" were.
With my job at the cafe gone, I spent the day pounding the pavement, searching for work. But everywhere I went, the story was the same. No matter how desperate they were for staff, the moment they saw my application, their demeanor would shift. They would be polite, almost reverent, but the answer was always a firm no.
Defeated, I headed back to my small rented apartment. My landlady was waiting for me on the doorstep.
She was a kind old woman. When I first arrived with nothing to my name, she let me have the first month's rent free so I could get on my feet. She'd often bring me a bowl of whatever delicious meal she'd cooked for herself.
But today, her eyes were red-rimmed and panicked.
"Alice, you're finally back!" she cried, grabbing my hands. "Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I can't rent this place to you anymore. Please don't be angry with me. I have no choice." Her voice broke. "Some powerful man came to town... He said if I keep you as a tenant, my daughter... my daughter who works in Bayport... she'll..."
She trailed off, dissolving into tears.
I couldn't let her suffer for my sake. That night, I packed my few belongings and left.
So this was Shawn's "compensation."
Destroy the life I had, then arrogantly offer me a gilded cage. How utterly pathetic.

2
The day I moved out of my apartment, Shawn appeared.
He looked thinner than he had a few days ago, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all. He brought a moving company with him, directing the workers with a casual authority, as if we were still married and he was simply bringing his wife home.
When we arrived at the sprawling, sterile villa, he poured me a glass of honey water. "You always get so tense," he said softly. "This will help you relax."
I took the glass from him in silence and took a small sip. It was sweet. So sweet it made my whole body shudder. Just like this so-called compensation of hisa gilded offering that felt more like a prison.
I set the glass down. "Mr. Duffer, what's in the past is in the past. If you truly wanted to make things right, you wouldn't have shown up here and blown up my life."
He flinched, a flicker of somethingdisappointment? pain?crossing his eyes. "Alice, don't be difficult." His voice was soft, patronizing. "I know you feel wronged. This is just the first step. I'll find someone else to take the blame, and then, bit by bit, I'll restore your reputation."
He paused, his gaze intense. "And I know you don't like Jessica. I'll make sure she keeps her distance. For now, just rest."
His tone was gentle, but the message was crystal clear: I was not allowed to refuse. He needed me under his control, trapped in his web.
But Jessica was never going to stay away.
The very same day I moved in, Shawn had barely arrived before she burst through the door, a gaggle of reporters in tow.
"Shawn, darling! I heard our star architect had arrived. Why didn't you tell me?" she chirped, her eyes gleaming with malice. She turned her performance to the cameras. "Even though Ms. Duffer made a terrible mistake all those years ago, everyone deserves a chance to live. I hope you've learned your lesson and will try to be a better person from now on!"
The real culprit, standing there and lecturing me with a straight face. She then held out a credit card. "This is just a little something from me. You're a senior in the field, and my fianc's ex-wife. Please, don't say no. If you run into any trouble, you must let us know!"
It was a masterful performance. That afternoon, the headlines exploded across Bayport:
ENGINEER RESPONSIBLE FOR DOZENS OF DEATHS RETURNS, MAGNANIMOUSLY SUPPORTED BY BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND!
KILLER ARCHITECT WELCOMED BACK INTO LUXURY, WHILE VICTIMS' SOULS FIND NO REST!
Overnight, Shawn became the tragic, devoted hero, and Jessica the understanding, saintly fiance.
And I was once again the villain, thrown to the wolves.
Whether it was intentional or not, Jessica leaked my new address to the press.
From then on, my front gate became a site of pilgrimage for grieving families and angry citizens. They held signs, they screamed obscenities, they threw garbage over the walls.
Three days into the siege, my parents came.
It was the first time in ten years they had sought me out.
For a foolish, fleeting moment, seeing the mother and father who had once doted on me standing there, my heart leaped. "Mom? Dad? You're here! Please, come in, let me get you some water."
I moved toward the door to welcome them.
But my father just glared, his voice dripping with contempt. "Hmph. We wouldn't dare drink water from a murderer's hand."
My mother leaned wearily against the doorframe. "Alice, we can never forgive what you did," she said, her voice tired but firm. "But you can't keep making mistake after mistake. We are begging you. Jessica loves Shawn so much. You're divorced. Stop clinging to him."
Her voice, the same soft voice that once sang me lullabies, was now laced with steel. "Jessica is too kind to say this herself, so we will. You need to leave Bayport immediately. If you insist on staying, don't blame your father and me for finding... ways... to help you leave."
Each word was a perfectly aimed dagger, twisting in my heart.

3
I stared at them, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Mom, Dad... after all this time, have you never, not for one second, believed in me?" My voice cracked. "What if I told you that everything, all of this, was a setup by Jessica Thorne?"
SLAP!
Before I could finish, my father's hand cracked across my face. "You wretched girl!" he roared. "Even now, you dare to slander Jessica!"
Just then, Shawn pulled up, a bag of groceries in his hand. He saw the scene unfold and froze, his face paling as he rushed toward us, stammering an explanation.
But his phone rang. It was his assistant.
"Mr. Duffer, it's an emergency!" the voice on the other end was frantic. "Ms. Thorne is drunk! They've taken her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped!"
Hearing this, the expressions on Shawn's and my parents' faces shifted from anger to sheer panic. Without another glance at me, the three of them scrambled into the car and sped away.
I watched them go, a hollow, broken laugh bubbling up from my chest. Tears streamed down my face. So that was it. My pain, my suffering, their threats and their supposed concern... none of it mattered more than a single, drunken phone call from Jessica.
I thought that would be the end of it. Ten years had taught me one thing: expect nothing from my parents, and even less from Shawn.
But I never imagined their "methods" would come so swiftly.
A few days later, I went out to buy some essentials. A group of the victims' family members must have been tipped off. They cornered me in an alley, and a heavy iron pipe came down on the back of my head.
When I woke up, I was inside a rough burlap sack.
Through the coarse weave, I could see the dark, shimmering surface of a river.
A mans voice, thick with rage, snarled as a steel-toed boot slammed into my stomach. "You bitch. You thought you could just come back here after what you did?"
His words ignited the others.
"You give me back my daughter!" a woman shrieked, her voice raw with grief. "She was only nineteen, just started college! You monster!"
"My mother died because of you! Because you cut corners! I'll make you pay!"
Fists and feet rained down on me. I tried to scream, to explain, but my mouth was gagged, my pleas muffled into desperate, animalistic sounds.
When they finally grew tired, the man who seemed to be their leader spoke again, his voice a low growl. "You owe us for all the lives you took. Tearing you limb from limb wouldn't be enough." He spat. "Tonight, you pay your debt in blood."
I heard the whistle of an iron rod cutting through the air, followed by an explosion of agony.
They hit me again, and again, and again.
Ninety-nine times.
I passed out, was revived by a splash of icy water, and the torture continued. I could feel my bones cracking, splintering under the relentless blows.
Finally, as my consciousness faded into a dull, gray fog, they tied a heavy rock to my body and heaved me into the river.

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