Chapter 55 Chapter 55

Chapter 55 Chapter 55
The afternoon sun filtered through the Vancouver apartment windows as Zarlia's phone rang. She answered on the second ring, grateful for the distraction from her messed up thoughts.
"Hey," Caroline's voice came through, but it was dull.
"How did it go?" Zarlia asked, sitting up straighter on the couch. "Did you talk to your stepmom?"
There was a long pause, and Zarlia could hear the exhaustion in Caroline's breathing.
"She refused," Caroline said finally. "I told her no—clearly, directly, no room for misinterpretation. I said I wasn't going to marry him, that I didn't care about the company partnership, that she needed to move on and find another solution."
"And?"
"And she acted like I hadn't said anything at all. Just kept going on about family duty and responsibility and how I'm throwing away our legacy over my 'childish stubbornness.'" Caroline's laugh was bitter. "The worst part? My stepsister actually wants me to marry her ex-fiancé. Can you believe that? She says it's the only way to 'save face' with the investors and keep the merger alive. Like I'm some kind of sacrificial lamb they can just trade around."Caroline had a feeling her sister dint actually want to marry her fiancée and immediately took the opportunity to call it off immediately without question.
"That's insane," Zarlia said, anger flaring in her chest. "They can't force you—"
"My stepmom said she's inviting him over tomorrow," Caroline interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. "To the house. So— we can 'talk things through' and 'come to an understanding.' She's not even pretending to listen to me anymore."
Zarlia heard the devastation underneath Caroline's controlled tone—the exhaustion of fighting a battle you knew you couldn't win, not because you were wrong but because the other side refused to hear you.
"Caroline, you don't have to go—"
"My heart belongs to someone else," Caroline blurted out suddenly, the words tumbling out like they'd been held back for a long time. "That's what I told her. I said I couldn't marry him because my heart already belongs to someone else, and she just... she just laughed at me. Said I was making up excuses."
Zarlia paused, her brain catching up to what Caroline had just said. "Wait. You never told me you had a boyfriend."
The line went silent.
Through the phone, Zarlia could hear the distant sound of an elevator ding, footsteps, the rustle of Caroline adjusting her grip on her phone.
"He's... not exactly a boyfriend," Caroline said finally, and there was something strange in her voice—half embarrassed, half defiant.
"Then what is he?"
"He's a stalker."
"Caroline!" Zarlia's voice pitched higher with alarm. "What? You can't be serious. Stalkers are no good, you need to—"
"He's different," Caroline said quickly, and now she definitely sounded defensive. The sound of keys jingling came through the line, a door opening. "I know how it sounds, okay? But he's not like... dangerous. He's just... interesting."
"Interesting," Zarlia repeated flatly.
"Look, I don't even know if I actually like him or if I'm just intrigued because he's so—" Another elevator ding, the mechanical hum of it ascending. "I just want to see what other things he has up his sleeve, you know? Like, what makes him tick. What breaks that stoic exterior? It's like a puzzle."
Despite everything, Zarlia found herself laughing. "You're so weird."
"I like what I like," Caroline said, and Zarlia could hear the smile in her voice now. "I've always been into possessive and endearing men. And my stalker is hot. Looks young though, which is the only downside, but—"
Possessive. Endearing. The words hit Zarlia like a physical blow, and suddenly she was thinking about Stetson again—the way his eyes would track her across a room, the possessive curl of his hand around her waist, how he'd pull her closer in his sleep like he was afraid she'd disappear. She missed those time, that feeling—him.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"Plus, there's something about him that's just—"
Caroline's voice cut off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath.
"Caroline?" Zarlia asked. "You okay?"
The sound of a phone hitting the floor came through clearly, followed by Caroline's muffled curse.
"Caroline? What's happening?"
"I'll... I'll call you back," Caroline said, her voice distant and strange, and then the line went dead.
Caroline stood frozen in the elevator, her phone somewhere on the floor by her feet, her eyes locked on the man who had just stepped inside.
Luke.
He looked different from last night—softer somehow, despite the hard lines of exhaustion etched into his face. His dark hair was messy, falling into his eyes in a way that made her think he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. There was a haziness to his expression, that particular look of someone running on too little sleep and too much coffee.
The elevator doors slid shut behind him, and he straightened slightly, sighing as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Caroline's mouth had gone dry.
"Still stalking me?" she managed, trying for her usual confidence but the words came out breathier than intended.
Luke didn't respond, just looked at her with those unreadable dark eyes.
She pouted, remembering his casual insult from the night before. "Rude. You know, after telling a girl she's not attractive, the least you could do is acknowledge her the next day."
Still nothing. But his gaze tracked over her face like he was cataloging every detail.
"Do you... live here?" Caroline asked, gesturing vaguely at the elevator panel. He nodded, barely perceptible.
"You look tired," she observed, and something about his vulnerability in that moment made her voice soften. "Are you okay?"
"Are you caring for your stalker?" Luke's voice was low, rough from sleep, and suddenly his face was closer to hers—close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, could catch the scent of soap and something darker underneath.
Caroline immediately stepped back, her spine hitting the elevator wall. "No! I'm just—I'm not—"
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open on their floor.
"Even if you are a stalker," Caroline continued quickly, following as Luke stepped out into the hallway, "it doesn't scare me. I mean, I can't really blame you for being obsessed with me."
Luke's strides were long, purposeful, and Caroline found herself almost jogging to keep up. He walked down the hallway to the third door on the left, pulling out a keycard from his pocket.
Caroline stopped at the door next to his, looking for her own keys.
"Wait," she said, blinking. "You're... next door?"
Luke didn't answer, just slid his card through the reader. The lock clicked open. "We're neighbors?" Caroline's voice pitched higher. "You're literally right next to—"
But he was already inside, the door closing behind him with a soft, final click.
Caroline stared at the closed door for a long moment, her mind racing. Then she let herself into her own apartment, dropping her bags carelessly by the entrance. She ran to the wall that separated their apartments, pressing her ear against it like a teenager trying to eavesdrop on forbidden conversations.
Nothing. Complete silence.
Caroline pulled back, a grin spreading across her face despite herself. He was right there. Just on the other side of this wall. Her mysterious, stoic stalker was literally her neighbor, and he'd had no idea.
The possibilities were endless.
She thought for a moment, tapping her fingers against the wall. Then an idea struck her—perfect, obvious, exactly the kind of gesture that would give her an excuse to see him again.
Food. She'd cook him something, after all the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
Caroline was already moving toward her laptop, opening it to search for recipes. Cooking wasn't exactly her strength—she was much better at appreciating food than making it—but how hard could it be?
Meanwhile, Luke collapsed onto his bed the moment he got inside, not bothering to do anything except kick off his shoes. Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion—too many late nights, too much stress, too much time spent managing a company while his Alpha fell apart and tracking a woman, he had no business being interested in.
He took a shower and changed into a simple tank top and joggers, his hair still damp as he finally let himself sink into the mattress. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, pulling him under into dreamless darkness.
Caroline stood in her kitchen, surrounded by what could only be described as a culinary disaster.
The YouTube tutorial had made it look so easy. The cheerful chef on her laptop screen was demonstrating how to make a "simple, delicious" meal that "anyone can master."
Anyone, apparently, except Caroline.
There was smoke coming from something on the stove. The vegetables she'd attempted to chop were massacred into uneven chunks. And whatever that smell was, it definitely wasn't supposed to be part of the recipe.
"Okay," Caroline muttered, frantically trying to salvage what she could. "This is fine. This is totally fine. Just—"
The smoke alarm went off.
"Shit!" Caroline grabbed a towel, waving it frantically under the alarm until the piercing sound finally stopped.
She looked at her creation—if it could even be called that—and felt her determination crumble. Luke would never eat this.
Fifteen minutes later, she was on her phone, ordering burgers from the best restaurant in the area. She threw the ruined food away, cleaned up the evidence of her failure, and tried to make it look like the ordered food was homemade by arranging it nicely on her own plates.
By the time the delivery arrived, the sun was setting, painting her apartment in shades of gold and orange. Caroline took a shower, washing away the smell of burnt vegetables and disappointment. She applied lipstick—just a touch, nothing too obvious—and pulled on a zip-up hoodie and shorts.
Casual. Effortless. Definitely not like she'd spent the last several hours obsessing over this. She picked up the plated food, took a deep breath, and headed next door.
She knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. No one answered.
Caroline bit her lip, then tried the handle. It turned easily—unlocked.
Terrible security for someone who's supposed to be stalking people, she thought as she let herself in.
The apartment was basic. Minimal furniture, neutral colors, everything functional rather than decorative. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by.
Caroline walked further inside, her footsteps soft against the hardwood. Then something moved in the darkness—a massive shadow separating from the wall, looming over her.
Before she could scream, cold metal pressed against her throat.
A knife.
Caroline swallowed hard, feeling the blade against her skin, and Luke's voice came from behind her, low and dangerous.
"What are you doing here?" He was close enough that she could smell him—cigarettes, yes, but underneath that was something else. Something darker and more complex, like aged whiskey and rain-soaked earth. Addictive. Intoxicating.
"I brought food," Caroline managed, her voice surprisingly steady despite the knife at her throat.
The blade lowered immediately.
Luke moved away from her, and lights suddenly flooded the apartment as he flicked a switch. Caroline blinked against the brightness, her eyes adjusting—and then immediately widening.
Luke stood a few feet away in a simple tank top and joggers, his long dark hair falling messily around his face. And he was wearing glasses.
Glasses.
Thin-framed, slightly crooked on his nose, making him look younger and somehow more dangerous at the same time. The casual clothes revealed the lean muscle of his arms, the kind of build that came from practical strength rather than gym vanity.
He looked taller somehow. More rogue. Like he'd just woken up from sleep and was ready to either fight or seduce someone—possibly both.
Caroline cleared her throat, suddenly very aware that she was staring.
"Kitchen?" she asked, her voice higher than normal.
Luke jerked his head toward the small kitchen area, and Caroline followed, hyperaware of him moving behind her. He seemed to fill the space, all controlled energy and coiled tension.
She set the food down on the counter, arranging it unnecessarily as he leaned against the opposite counter, watching her.
He couldn’t figure out why she was doing this. She was probably attracted to him but her arrogance wouldn’t allow her to admit it. Every move she made under his watch wasn’t steady—she was nervous and it only amused him. 
"Why would you cook for your stalker?" Luke asked, his tone flat but with something underneath—amusement, maybe, or curiosity.
Caroline didn't answer, busying herself with the plates.
"It's dangerous," he continued, and now his voice dropped lower, taking on an edge that made her pulse quicken. "Walking into a stalker's house. Alone. At night. What if I tried something?"
His voice wasn't deep in the traditional sense—it wasn't a bass rumble that shook your chest. It was something else entirely. Smooth and controlled, each word precisely articulated, but with a roughness underneath like gravel wrapped in silk. The kind of voice that could whisper threats or promises and make them sound the same. The kind of voice that made you lean in closer just to hear it better, even when you knew you shouldn't.
Caroline shivered despite herself.
"You won't try anything," she said, trying to sound confident.