Chapter 116 Chapter 116
Shea and Michelle argued over seating charts in the dining room while Kevin and Damon debated whether live musicians or a DJ would keep the dance floor busier. Andrew had somehow taken over cake testing like it was his personal life mission.
Alina pulled me into a hug the moment I stepped inside.
“You look tired,” she said softly.
“Wedding planning cardio,” I joked.
She smiled knowingly but didn’t push further. That was something I loved about her. She gave comfort without interrogation.
Dinner passed in warm noise and laughter, conversations overlapping, and wine glasses clinking against polished wood tables. For a few hours, the tension sitting in my chest loosened enough that I almost forgot about the messages, almost.
My phone vibrated again halfway through dessert, and I froze.
Zaiel noticed instantly; his eyes dropped to my lap, where the phone rested against my thigh, the screen lighting faintly through the fabric of my dress. His expression didn’t change, but his posture sharpened subtly.
“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I said quickly, sliding the phone into my clutch without checking it.
He studied me for one long second before nodding slowly, turning back to the conversation with his father. But I felt the shift, the quiet alertness settling into his body like a switch flipping behind his calm expression. There wasn't anything I could hide from him; it won't be long before he knows.
I didn’t check the message until we were driving home later that night. The city lights blurred past the car window as I unlocked my phone with trembling fingers.
Another photo. This one showed me laughing across the dinner table with Alina. The angle looked like it had been taken from outside through the estate windows.
My stomach dropped.
UNKNOWN: You look happiest with them, the message underneath read.
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred. The realization settled slowly, heavily, into my chest. A new stalker, and they weren't just watching me; they were watching my life.
“You’re quiet,” Zaiel said from beside me, his eyes still focused on the road.
“Just tired. Kia”
He nodded once, but his hand slid across and rested lightly against my knee, his thumb brushing small circles against the fabric of my dress. The simple contact felt grounding, steady, and safe. But guilt twisted through me hard enough to make my throat ache, because I still hadn’t told him. And deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer.
The first bouquet showed up on a Tuesday, and at first, I honestly thought it was Kai because flowers randomly showing up around me had become a very normal part of my life lately. His family loved celebrations, loved gestures, loved overdoing anything connected to happiness, and since the engagement dinner, everything felt like it lived in that soft golden glow of excitement and countdowns.
I was sitting at my desk going over SEO reports, adjusting campaign rankings for one of the international clients, when the receptionist buzzed up to say there was a delivery waiting downstairs. I almost ignored it because I was knee-deep in analytics graphs and keyword placement adjustments, but curiosity won out, and I walked down anyway, already smiling because I figured it would be another ridiculous but sweet arrangement Zaiel thought I deserved.
The bouquet was massive. White roses mixed with pale pink orchids and tiny clusters of baby’s breath wrapped in cream silk ribbon. It was expensive. Not flashy expensive, but intentionally expensive. Someone had put real thought into the arrangement, and the florist had definitely been told to make it look delicate without looking weak.
“There’s no card?” I asked the receptionist while turning the bouquet around, searching for something tucked between stems or hidden in the ribbon.
She shook her head slowly. “Nothing came with it. Just your name.”
That made my smile pause, but it didn’t completely disappear yet because Zaiel sometimes sent things with messages through text instead of cards. He liked watching my reaction live more than writing it out.
I carried the flowers back to the office and placed them on the side table near the window and pulled my phone out while sitting back in my chair.
Me: Did you send flowers to my office?
His reply came almost instantly.
Zaiel: No. Should I be jealous someone else did?
I stared at the screen longer than I meant to, my fingers hovering over the keyboard while that little ripple of unease slid quietly under my ribs.
Me: There’s no card.
Zaiel: Want me to check security footage?
Me: No, it’s probably nothing. Maybe from a client.
Zaiel: If it feels off, tell me.
Me: I will.
I put my phone down, but I kept glancing at the bouquet while trying to return to work, and the longer I looked at it, the stranger it felt. The flowers were beautiful. Perfect, honestly. But there was something about receiving them without a name that made it feel less like a gift and more like someone had reached into my space without asking.
By noon, I convinced myself I was overthinking, and by three, I was fully focused on work again, letting deadlines and campaign adjustments drown out that quiet discomfort.
Until the first message came.
Unknown: They match you. Soft but strong.
I froze mid-typing, my fingers hovering over my keyboard while my eyes locked on the message like it might disappear if I blinked. I read it again and then again, my brain trying to decide if it was creepy or just awkward.
Me: Who is this?
The typing bubble popped up instantly, then disappeared. Then came back. Then disappeared again. Nothing followed.
I waited a full minute before locking my phone and forcing myself to breathe normally. People sent weird messages all the time. Marketing work meant dealing with random contacts, spam numbers, and potential clients fishing for responses. It meant absolutely nothing. That was what I told myself. I repeated it until it almost felt believable.
I finished work later than usual that evening, mostly because I kept rereading the message every time I tried to leave. When I finally walked out of the building, the sky was dimming into that deep purple twilight that always made the city look softer than it actually was.
The parking lot lights flickered on overhead while I walked toward the car, heels clicking against concrete in a steady rhythm. Rob unlocked the door for me, and I slid into the seat, tossing my bag onto the other side before glancing at my phone again.
Another message waited.
Unknown: I like when you wear your hair down.
Coldness spread across my shoulders like someone had poured ice water down my spine. My hands tightened around the phone before I even started the engine, and I looked around the parking lot slowly, scanning rows of cars, shadows between light poles, and reflections in windows. Nothing looked wrong; everything looked normal, which made it worse.
“Madam, is everything okay?” Rob asked.