The Heart System

Chapter 414: Chapter 414

Emma was standing right in front of my desk.

Green hair, half-lidded eyes, that perpetual look like she’d just woken up from a nap she didn’t want to end.

I jerked in my chair.

"Jesus..." I muttered. "Fuck... Emma, hey. You scared me."

"I know," she said flatly.

"How did the anime convention go?"

"Uh... good." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yours?"

"Still sad that my battery died." She shrugged, shoulders barely moving. "I wanted that prize."

"Yeah. I wish I’d given you my phone. You could maybe win it."

"Mm." She nodded once, then planted both hands on my desk and leaned forward, turning her body toward me. "How’s Kim?"

"The cat?" I asked. "It’s Mik now. We changed her name. And, oh boy, she is naughty. Always running around, doing stuff. She actually ruined the single couch with her claws."

"Naughty?" Emma asked, one eyebrow lifting a fraction. "She is the laziest. Are you sure?"

"Yep." I leaned back. "There’s someone in our penthouse that basically talks cat. Tessa. She knows a lot of stuff about ’em. And... I guess she brought the energized side of Mik... unlucky for us."

"Well, she getting any thinner?"

"Thinner?" I asked back. "Well, maybe."

"Good." She clapped her hands once and pushed herself upright. "Nala in her office, right?"

"Yep."

"Okay. Welp, I’m off then. Bye, Evan."

"Uh-huh. Bye, Emma."

She turned and drifted away like she’d never been there.

I stared at the empty space for a second, then let my head fall back against the chair.

"God... I’m so tired."

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Okay, I might’ve gone full conspiracy mode.

Every single one-star review Chase Bellings had? Only from women. And they were all saying the same thing. He didn’t listen. He rushed them. Prescribed the usual stuff—Xanax, sleep meds, whatever—like he had a template and just filled in the blanks. One woman, initials P.Z., said she caught him scrolling on his phone while she was talking about her problems at home. There were dozens like that. Different names, same story.

I took a sip of my orange juice and kept scrolling.

The penthouse was quiet now. We’d finished the takeout—Chinese cartons stacked up, an empty pizza box on the counter because Tessa insisted on "balance." The girls were sprawled in the living room watching TV. Minne was cleaning dishes in the kitchen. I was still at the dining table, phone in hand.

"Evan?" Jasmine called from the single couch. "Still reading about Chase?"

"Yep," I said. "It’s weird."

Tessa, on the double couch with Mik on her lap, shrugged. "So what? The dude doesn’t listen to women? He a sexist or something?"

"I don’t know," I said. "I’m still digging."

Then my phone buzzed.

The woman I’d sent a friend request to—the one whose review stood out—had accepted. Daila Zen. Fifty-eight. Two kids. Husband gone. Her bio said ’Single mom, powerful and spiritually high.’ I figured she’d been seeing Chase to deal with all that.

I opened the chat. My thumbs hovered over the screen for a second. I could ease into it, small talk first. Or I could just be straight.

Straight was easier.

"Should I take that, Master?" Minne asked softly, pointing at my empty glass.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Thanks, honey."

She picked it up and walked back toward the sink.

I typed.

’Hello, Ms. Zen. May I ask some questions about Chase Bellings?’

A few seconds later:

’Chase? Who are you?’

’A concerned friend. One of my friends is seeing him. After reading your review, I got worried.’

’He is the worst. Tell your friend to find another therapist.’

’Why? Would you be willing to talk in person?’

’I’m working at Canvas Supermarket right now. Can’t text much. If you’re free, you can come here.’

Canvas Supermarket.

That was across town. I’d passed it before when I picked Esme up from the station. It wasn’t exactly close. But I didn’t have anything urgent tonight. And if Chase was hiding something, I needed to know. It would help Ivy. And it would help me.

’Alright. I’ll be there in an hour. Does that work?’

’Yes. Boss is nearby. Can’t talk.’

She went offline.

I locked my phone and stood up.

Mik jumped down from Tessa’s lap and trotted over, brushing against my leg. I bent down and scratched behind her ears. She did feel a little lighter than before. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I wasn’t.

"Where are you going?" Jasmine asked.

"Meeting a woman who left Chase a bad review," I said. "I’ll probably be back in a few hours."

"This was supposed to be game night," Kim muttered.

"Risk again?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," Tessa said. "Monopoly."

I laughed. "I’ll try to make it back early. No promises."

I grabbed my jacket from the hanger and slipped it on.

"Let us know if something happens," Nala said.

"Yeah," I said, heading for the door. "I will."

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I parked the car along the curb and stepped out. Canvas Supermarket was right across the street, bright and busy even at this hour. I could already see her under the striped awning near the entrance.

Dalia Zen stood behind a small folding stand set up beside the glass wall of the supermarket. Buckets of flowers surrounded her—roses, lilies, cheap mixed bouquets wrapped in plastic. She was Black, short gray hair cut close to her scalp, strong jawline, deep lines around her mouth. She wore a thick cardigan layered over a long skirt, practical boots, no makeup. Her expression looked permanently unimpressed.

I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, crossed the street, and walked straight up to her stand.

"Ms. Zen?" I asked.

She looked at me carefully. "Yes?"

"I’m the one who messaged you. About Chase."

She gave a small nod. "Right."

I didn’t bother easing into it. "What happened with him?"

Her face changed immediately. "If you care about your friend," she said flatly, "pay me."

I frowned. "You agreed to meet me here."

"And we’re meeting," she replied, adjusting a bouquet. "Talking costs extra."

"You’re serious?"

"Five thousand."

"Five grand? Jesus. You really need to see a therapist."

"No money, no talk."

I tried again. "Just tell me what he did. Why did you leave that review? Was he ignoring you? Prescribing things without listening?"

She didn’t even look at me. She kept trimming stems, rearranging flowers, acting like I wasn’t standing there.

I exhaled through my nose and shook my head. "You’re fucking useless."

I turned and started walking back toward my car.

Then I remembered.

Hypnotize.

The system had given me that skill. I’d never used it. I didn’t even know how to activate it. I just thought about it, trying to will it to work.

"How do I even activate Hypnotize?"

I didn’t feel anything change. But when I glanced at the glass wall behind her stand, I caught my reflection. My damaged eye—the one Karamine had taken—was glowing faint pink.

I turned back to her.

She was staring at me now. Her expression was blank. Completely empty.

"Dalia," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Tell me everything about Chase Bellings."

She nodded.

"He told me I was the reason my husband left me," she said in a flat tone. "That I was unbearable."

My jaw tightened. "And?"

"He said humans are not meant to suffer the way they do. That their bodies are not built for it."

"Go on."

"I was suicidal. He encouraged it. He told me which pills would work faster."

My stomach twisted. "What else?"

"He told me to record a video before I did it. Said it would be good."

"What did you do?"

"I recorded the video. I took the pills. My dog alerted the neighbors. They found me."

"The video?"

"He took it. Said he would keep it so my name would not be embarrassed."

I stared at her. "Why didn’t you put this in your review?"

"I did not want people to think I was weak."

I processed what she’d just told me. Chase wasn’t just inattentive. He was pushing patients toward suicide and keeping evidence.

The pink glow in my reflection faded.

Dalia blinked. Her face shifted back to normal awareness. She looked at me like nothing had happened.

"So," she said, annoyed again, "five thousand?"

She didn’t remember.

I shook my head. "Nah. But you should get another therapist, though. Just saying."

Then I turned and walked away.

Crazy chick... five grand? Really?

Hell no.

I crossed the street back toward my car, hands still in my coat pockets, mind stuck on what Dalia had just told me.

Chase encouraging suicide. Taking videos. Keeping them. That wasn’t negligence. That was something else entirely.

I reached the curb and slowed down.

There was a car parked directly behind mine. I frowned. I didn’t remember anyone being that close when I left... then I saw it. The rear of my car had a fresh dent. Paint scraped. The bumper slightly pushed in.

I exhaled slowly.

Of course.