Page 160 of Seven
"My name is Milo," I said. The words felt heavy but true.
I turned the handle and stepped into the hallway, letting the door fall shut behind me.
With every step, I felt lighter. The echoes of my own footsteps sounded different—less like a threat, more like a heartbeat.
Somewhere out there, Kimmy was waiting.
And this time, I was coming back as myself.
52 kimmy
I'd spent the last three hours on the couch, hunched over my iPad, reading stories about the Valmont scandal until my eyeballs ached from the strain. Seven was gone—handling business, or maybe not coming back at all—and the city outside the windows was nothing but a colorful smear.
I'd spoke to Brynn earlier because there had been a long string of texts from her on my phone that needed to be addressed before she cut me off. She'd asked me when I'd be back to the land of the living. I'd told her soon, but in reality, I didn't know.
She'd tried to pry more information from me, casually mentioning Valmont's downfall and calling it a freaky coincidence.
I hadn't commented.
The only light in the loft was the glow of the iPad's screen. My face looked sickly in the reflection. The leftover bruises on my cheek and neck were almost gone, but not quite yet.
Every news outlet and every social media platform had a different angle on the scandal.
Some tried to keep it clinical.
Investor Caius Valmont Accused of Serial Sexual Assault
Others made it a tabloid.
Billionaire Freak Show Revealed! Exclusive Footage from Inside "The Room"
A few went even further.
Is Caius Valmont the New Jeffrey Epstein? Shocking Parallels Revealed
I read all of them, even the gross ones. I couldn't help it. It was replaying the same song that made you sad, just to see if it still worked.
A lot of women were coming forward. Some used their real names. Some didn't. There was a comment thread with thousands of people guessing who themystery girlfrom the leaked video was. So far no one had matched it to me. And they never would. There'd be no trace.
Underneath the headlines, the readers were rabid. Most of them were on my side, or at least on the side of the victims. Some were sick with rage. Some went out of their way to find a way to hate us for being gold-diggers. I read those, too, even though they stung worse than the rest.
I scrolled and scrolled, until the battery died and I was left holding a blank rectangle in the dark.
A noise from the hallway snapped me upright. Not a bang, but a tiny mechanical whine—the sound of the keypad unlocking the front door. My heart seized, then started running.
He was back.
I stood, legs stiff, every muscle tight with hope and dread. I didn't know whether he'd actually come. Maybe he'd just ghost me because the job had been completed.
But the lock disengaged, and the door swung open.
Seven stepped inside, moving like he always did—slow, predatory, as if the world was one giant trap. His jacket was zipped to the neck, and the black bandana was back, covering the lower half of his face. He had a duffel bag with him. His eyes were more intense than I'd ever seen them. He looked even more dangerous than I remembered.
He closed the door with his heel and took a quick look around. His gaze landed on me. The room was so quiet I could hear my own breathing, fast and shallow.
"Did you…get it all done?" I asked.
"I did," he replied, taking a step in my direction.
