"Ange... where are y—?"
The constant sound of water continued.
"Ange, are you okay?"
The recording played again beneath the constant sound of water.
Arabella stood in the shower, the hot spray turning her skin red, but her focus was entirely on the phone placed at the cabinet beside the wall. Especially on the background noises—the uneven breathings and constant muffled voices.
After listening to it several more times, she sighed and stepped out, steam rolling off her skin.
In her bed, a figure lay sprawled and unmoving. Arabella couldn't remember the woman's name, as she was just a substitute.
She tossed the phone to the side and began to dress up, not bothering to wipe the water off her skin. Her mind stayed fixed on the call—no longer a conversation, only a recording.
Her hand paused on her shirt button, and she couldn't stop herself. Reaching for her phone, she dialed the same number.
It rang until it went to the voicemail.
