Chapter 118 Chapter 118
I stuffed the card into my bag and forced myself to act normal while my coworkers chatted and laughed. Every movement, every glance out the window, every reflection in the glass told me the same thing: someone was inside my life I couldn’t see.
By the time I left work, I was jumpy, scanning the streets like a cornered animal. My ride home was worse than usual; every time the car stopped, every pair of eyes made me flinch. Every shadow flicking past the window felt like someone was leaning in too close.
When I finally reached home, I half-ran into the house. When I rushed in, I saw him: Zaiel, leaning against the polished wall with that exact expression that always sent a jolt through me. Calm, observing, and unmoving.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low, almost casual. His gaze flicked past me to the open door, and I noticed how his hands flexed, just slightly. Not nervous, not impatient, but controlled, like a predator about to pounce.
“I… got held up,” I muttered, trying not to sound like a hysterical idiot.
“Did anyone follow you?” His words were calm, but the underlying edge made the hair on my arms stand up.
I hesitated. Could I tell him? Could I risk admitting the shadows, the moved stuff, the card, the constant prickling sensation?
“I… don’t think so,” I said finally, though every part of me screamed at the lie.
He didn’t push, and he didn’t argue. Just walked out the door; the doors closed with that hollow metal click that always made me feel like nothing in the outside world mattered once we were inside.
Zaiel
The moment I saw her rush in, I knew immediately. Someone had crossed the line. It wasn’t random, it wasn’t careless, and it wasn’t a coincidence. Someone had touched her things, invaded her space, and they were bold enough to keep coming.
I kept my voice low as I stood in front of the house, even though my chest throbbed with heat. My fists itched to crush, to burn, to hunt the one who dared. Whoever this was, I wanted to tear them apart quietly and efficiently so they understood fear like it was written in their own bones.
By the time I stepped back into the house, I had already called Joe and two other trusted contacts. Surveillance footage from the parking garage, the lobby, and the stairwell, even her elevator trips, every movement, every shadow in those frames would be dissected.
But right now, my priority was her. Tessa. She had been rattled, and her instincts told her that danger wasn’t just nearby; it was inescapable. And it wasn’t safe for her to know how deep my rage had already taken root.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said quietly as she unpacked her bag, trying to keep her calm. “Go upstairs, take a shower, eat something. Don’t let it touch your day.”
She hesitated, eyes wide and uncertain. “It’s… it’s just weird messages and flowers,” she said. Her voice was small and vulnerable. I could hear the tension in every syllable.
“I don’t care if it’s a paper crane from a random kid in the street,” I said. “It’s crossing my line. My patience. My tolerance. And it’s on my property. Promise me you won't run, not again, not after we have come so far.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t respond.
“Tessa, I mean it. Promise me you won’t run again?”
She looked at me for a long while before nodding, “Okay, I won't run,” she said. She headed toward our room like she was moving through treacle.
I stayed behind, pacing. The black card with those four words kept looping in my head: I see you. Everywhere. That wasn’t random; it wasn’t innocent. Someone knew her habits; someone had the patience to study her, to follow her, to manipulate her space.
And the thought of someone like that, so close to her, made my blood boil. I didn’t want to think about hurting anyone. Not yet, not here. But I wanted to. Deep, dark, methodical. I wouldn’t let them touch her. Not ever.
Tessa
That night, I barely slept. Every little noise, every rustle outside the window, set my nerves jangling. My phone stayed in my hand, the screen lighting up the room, but the battery was dying, and I didn’t even care.
The next morning at work I found a new note tucked under my keyboard. Thin, white, handwritten: “You were right to block him, but he’s patient. I’ll wait.”
I froze. My stomach dropped so fast I thought it might settle somewhere under my feet. I felt cold, and not the kind that comes from a window left cracked. My skin tingled in places where no one had touched me yet. Every instinct screamed at me: Get out. Run. Hide. Don’t trust anyone.
But the second I thought about Zaiel… about him seeing him, I felt a rush of heat in my chest. I promised I wouldn't run. And I realized, with a little shiver of fear and something else I couldn’t name, that I wanted him to tear this person apart. That I wanted my stalker stopped in ways I couldn’t even allow myself to imagine.
Because I had survived Alex and Mark. I had survived the other threats. I wasn’t weak, but I was tired. Tired of being watched, tired of feeling trapped, and tired of the paranoia curling around my spine every time I left the apartment.
And the thought of this new stalker, whoever he was, whoever he worked for, whoever he thought he was… I knew Zaiel would go to the ends of the earth to make them regret ever existing. I wasn’t ready for what he’d do, but I was terrified and… part of me was thrilled by it.
The city never felt so suffocating. Every street corner, every glint of a car window, and every pedestrian brushing past me made my pulse hammer. I’d tried to stay calm, tried to convince myself it was paranoia, but the black envelope, the card, and the whispered threats weren’t imagination.
I left the company for lunch later than usual, telling myself I’d be careful. Every step felt measured, calculated. I scanned the sidewalk as I walked, constantly turning my head, watching reflections in shop windows. A man with a leather jacket and a baseball cap seemed to appear at every corner I turned. He didn’t approach, didn’t touch me yet, but the way his eyes tracked me sent chills crawling up my spine.
I was biting the inside of my cheek, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to attract attention. And yet, the prickling sensation was worse than ever. Someone was following me; I could feel it in the heat at the back of my neck, in the weight pressing against my chest.
I wasn’t imagining it. I was heading to the cafe two blocks away when I saw him.