Chapter 19: Nineteen

"Dear lord," Amy thought, her shoulders shaking. She put down her phone, walking around the room in apprehension. Staring out the window, she saw two police cars pull over in the yard.

She let out a sigh in relief, moving toward the door just as a knock came on the door.

"Cassie Riverdale?" An officer stood outside the door in uniform.

She nodded, stepped back and let him in. Three other officers moved around the perimeters of the building, checking around.

"I'm Kingsley," he said, offering a hand.

She relaxed a little, feeling some of the nervousness disappear as she shook his hand. She was safe now, she tried to convince herself.

There was no evil man lurking in the shadows.

"You reported a suspected break in, am I correct?" He asked.

"Yes," she nodded, leading the officer over to the drawers, still rummaged through. "And my curtains were raised when I got in this evening. I'm certain I didn't raise them before leaving the house."

Just then the other three officers came in. "No sign of a break in anywhere, sir," they reported.

"Windows are locked, doors and locks in place with no evidence of being picked."

"Whoever did this had the key," another of them confirmed.

The man turned back to Amy. "And you're certain that you're the only one with the key to your apartment?"

"Yes," she nodded immediately. Her fingers were starting to shake again. Just her and maybe Mikhail, but she wasn't about to explain the awkward situation between her and her ex-husband to the police.

"And nothing was stolen?"

She shook her head again.

She watched them move around the house, taking some photographs, and search for fingerprints on the papers. Then the police man, the one she suspected was the chief, stood up, shaking his head.

"We didn't find anything," he announced. "Maybe you're just stressed. I've seen a lot of young women overworking themselves these days."

Amy pursed her lips. "I know what I saw, officer."

"But you didn't really see anything, did you?" He pointed out, his voice carrying that patient edge of a man who didn't appreciate being called all the way here for a wild goose chase.

She opened her mouth, starting to say something, but he cut her off, pulling out a card from his jacket pocket.

"I appreciate you reaching out when you felt unsafe, Cassie Riverdale, but you can call the police when you have actual proof."

Amy stared at him in shock. But she knew what she saw, she wanted to argue. Someone had been here, looking for something. And it wasn't an ordinary criminal.

"If the apartment still feels unsafe for you, you can spend the night at a hotel, or a friend's." She watched them clear out, standing there, the card in her hand, even more bewildered than ever. She didn't even react when the officer called over his shoulder for her to stay safe as he shut the door.

Soon, she heard the car retreating, the wailing of sirens equally fading.

Slumping down on the chair, she stared at the drawers as though expecting it to explain itself. But when nothing happened for the rest of the night, Amy crawled into bed, her survival instincts whispering that she had imagined the whole thing.

The morning came with blinding sunlight streaming through the curtains, reminding her that the previous day was very real, as well as the newest threat to her peace of mind.

She dressed quickly, not wanting to spend another minute in the house that was swiftly becoming a nightmare, grabbing her handbag and stepping out into the cool morning air.

She was halfway down the street when something made her glance back.

A familiar black car sat at the end of the street, partly hidden behind a delivery truck, and even from the distance, she could spot the silhouette of a man behind the wheel.

Mikhail.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Had he been there all night? Watching over her like some twisted guardian angel?

Amy quickened her pace, her heart hammering in her chest as she hailed a cab. She didn't look back, not once.

But she didn't have to.

She could feel him watching.

The company felt more like an escape than a work place. She was well aware of the whispers surrounding her as she walked in, her heels clunking against the tiles like a rhythm, designed to distract her.

In reality, the gossips and rumors about the scandal was the least thing on her mind.

Sighing, she pushed open the door to her office, partly relieved for the solitude and privacy.

Something that seemed to evade her at every turn.

Amy turned on her ear pods, blasting some music as she tried to focus on the mundane tasks before her.

Some things are still normal, she convinced herself, typing away on the laptop. She still had deadlines to meet, projects to manage, bills to pay.

Her life wasn't totally foreign yet.

"Miss Riverdale?" The door opened and a junior staff member walked in, appearing at her desk, arms full of files. "These need your review."

Amy nodded absently, reaching for the stack. The girl dropped them carefully, but as she turned to leave, one of the folders slipped open, revealing a folded piece of paper tucked between the documents.

Amy pulled it out with a frown, just as the door closed. She unfolded it beneath the desk.

"There's someone in LA who wants to see you, Amy Williams."

The blood drained out of her face. She stared at the paper, her fingers starting to tremble. Amy Williams, not Cassie Riverdale.

The person who sent the letter knew her real name. Someone was here in LA that knew of her identity. Someone from her past was here.

Quickly, she stuffed the paper into her bag, her hands shaking so violently that she could barely get the zip closed. The air suddenly felt suffocating as she pulled together piece by piece in her mind.

First the apartment search, now this.

The truth stared at her in the face, filling her with more dread as she tried to make it through the day without jumping at every opening of the door, without reading deeper meanings to every whisper of her colleagues as they walked past.

And by some miracle, she submitted the stack of files on the HR's desk at the end of the day, the other woman chattering about some extra work she would want her to do during the weekend, but Amy wasn't listening, nodding on autopilot till she could rush out of the office and race her way out of the company.

By the time she reached home, her nerves were already stretched to breaking point. She fumbled with the keys to her apartment, desperate to get inside and shut the rest of the world out.

The door swung open and Amy froze.

Mikhail sat on her sofa, legs crossed like he belonged there, leaning back with a can of soda.

He looked up from his phone with that familiar smirk that made her blood boil. "Thought I'd put up a little surprise for you. How was work, little woman?"

"Get out!" Amy began, slamming the door behind her, her fear instantly transforming to rage as she stared daggers at him. "I'm so sick and tired of people walking into my life like they own it."

"Actually," Mikhail stood up slowly, a disapproving frown replacing his smirk as he straightened his jacket, his eyes locked on her. "Your week is up. Time to go," he said plainly, his tone blunt like she was a package that got held in the delivery store.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" She yelled, the message in the paper still clear in her mind, locking her in a fine battle between anger and fear, but if she had to choose between the devil and the deep sea, there was no way she was going with the devil.

"Stay away from me. Get yourself someone else to obsess over because by tomorrow I'll be..."

But he was already walking forward, closing the distance between them, cutting her off as he grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly against him.

Mikhail tilted up her chin, his grip on her tight. She stared into his eyes. There was nothing gentle about them, not the usual amusement or superiority.

Just pure fire crackling in his iris and a dark look that he didn't try to mask. "Don't test my fucking patience, Amy. You can come willingly..." His voice dropped lower, his hand tightening around her waist possessively. "Or you can come screaming."

Amy let out a whimper, tears welling up in her face, the fight leaving her. At that moment, she could think nothing but how much she hated the man in front of her.

"Good," Mikhail brushed the tears from her face with his thumb, his voice firm.

His eyes dimmed a little, half of him hating himself for making her cry, but there was no way in hell that he was letting her stay one more night in the apartment. Not after last night.