Platform Seven

Richard’s face paled. Stepping forward, he lowered his voice, trying to intervene. “Larry, not today—it’s—”

“Shut up!”

Larry cut him off sharply, his bloodshot eyes locked on me, waiting—for my breakdown, my rage, my hysteria.

Nine years ago, that’s exactly how I would have reacted.

But he didn’t know. Over the past nine years, I had ground every last emotion down to nothing and buried it in the deepest trench of the sea.

I even laughed. Picking up the black card, I spun it slowly between my fingers.

“Mr. Larry certainly isn’t shy about throwing his money around.”

I walked over to the freshly made tiramisu. Right in front of them, I used the card’s hard edge to scrape off a thick chunk of cream dusted with cocoa powder.

Then I stopped in front of Larry.

His eyes widened in shock. Lunging forward, I grabbed his chin and shoved the cream-smeared card straight into his mouth.

“Taste it,” I leaned in, my voice a low, icy whisper. “Is cake bought with your dirty money especially sweet?”

Time seemed to freeze.

Everyone stood stunned.

Linda let out a sharp, choked gasp.

Richard’s jaw went slack.

Larry’s face was streaked with cream. On his tongue, the bitterness of cocoa clashed with the cloying sweetness of the frosting. A furious tempest darkened his gaze.

He probably never imagined that nine years later, this would be my answer to his provocation.

“You’re asking for death!”

Shoving me away violently, he wiped the cream from his face. His glare was ferocious, as if he wanted to tear me apart with his bare hands.

One of the bodyguards behind him immediately stepped forward, reaching for me.

My gaze hardened. In one fluid motion, I snatched the offset spatula from the counter and, without even looking, pressed its metal edge precisely against the guard’s throat.

“Get out.”

A single word.

The guard froze, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead. He could feel the chill of the metal against his skin—and the unmistakable, unrestrained threat she radiated. The quiet, deadly promise of someone who had truly seen blood.

“Ellie!”

Larry roared.

I didn’t even glance his way. My focus shifted to Linda, whose face had gone sheet-white.

*Slap!*

A crisp, sharp sound echoed through the dessert shop.

I’d put my full strength into it. Linda’s delicate cheek flushed and swelled instantly.

Clutching her face, she stared at me in disbelief, tears welling in her eyes. “How… how dare you hit me?”

“I dare,” I retracted my hand, my voice cold as ice, “because you shouldn’t have brought the person I hate most into my space. You’ve dirtied it.”

“And,” I looked at Larry, my lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile, “I dare because you look a little too much like I used to.”

The words pierced him—venomous and precise.

His face turned a shade paler than death.

Yes, Linda. Eighteen. Fresh-faced. With those two shallow dimples when she smiles.

So much like… so much like the Ellie from nine years ago, before hatred consumed her.

Larry, keeping a replica like this by your side… who exactly are you trying to punish? And who are you really torturing?