Liam's POV
Hearing her voice through the tiny speaker made my knees go weak. I had to grip the edge of the hallway table just to stay standing. Five years. Five years of waking up in the middle of the night mourning for a girl I thought was rotting in the ground.
"Scarlett," I breathed out. The name felt heavy on my tongue, like a prayer I had repeated thousands of times in the dark. "Where are you? Tell me where you are right now. I'm coming to get you."
"No, Liam. Don't come looking for me," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a sad, tired weight to it. "I didn't send that painting to the auction so you could hunt me down. I sent it to let you know I am safe. I am alive. But I am not that little girl under the oak tree anymore."
