I’d been awake, restless, obsessing over her when I saw her tracker moving. She wasn’t supposed to be out there. That green dot had been still for over an hour, and I’d assumed she was sleeping. But suddenly, it moved, heading deeper into the woods. I had panicked and I grabbed my clothes, running blindly into the night to catch up with her.
I’d followed that dot for what felt like hours, my mind racing with thoughts of what could’ve happened to her. When the dot stopped moving, so did I—my heart pounding, my mind flashing with worst-case scenarios. And then I saw him. The man.
He was dragging a sack. Something heavy and lumpy, the side stained with dark red streaks.
For a terrifying moment, my heart stopped. I’d thought it was her. My hands had trembled so hard I nearly dropped my phone, staring at that green dot on the screen as if it could give me some hope. It was still there, still glowing, still alive.
But that didn’t stop the panic from tearing through me. I had to get to the green dot first. I ran as the figure with thesack disappeared into the distance until I saw it—a warehouse, rundown and isolated.
And she was there. Ainsley.
I didn’t hate that version of myself.
That version of me only cared about protecting and seeing her. It was the other me I despised. The one who fell off that cliff, into the waters, and woke up from a coma with a heart full of anger. The one who decided to destroy her life. That version of me was rash. And now, I had to live with it.
Needing a break from the computer, my eyes aching from the hours of staring, I stepped outside.
The wind hit me first—sharp, cold, reminding me that Halloween was just four days away. The yard was littered with dead leaves, scattered across the pavement, some swept up by gusts of wind. The air felt colder than the night before, a biting chill that cut through my clothes and stung my skin. She’d need something warm tomorrow.
I knew she was working at that woman’s cafe tomorrow. I couldn’t help myself—after everything I’d put her through, I wanted to make sure her day was comfortable. Something to make up for the hell I’d caused her.
Back inside, I went straight to my computer, ignoring the old search history that taunted me:
How to apologise to a girl.
Do girls still like flowers?
What do I do when I make her angry?
How long do girls stay mad for?
I searched for something practical instead—something useful. Shoes.
I found it. A pair of insulated work boots designed to keep feet warm on cold days. Exactly what she’d need. I wanted her to feel comfortable, even if she was mad at me.
By eight in the morning, the shoes had arrived. I took them over, placing the box at her doorstep before retreating behind a block, waiting. It was twenty minutes before her front door opened, and she stopped dead on seeing the box. Clad in jeans and red shirt with brown hair that was wavier than usual, she had never looked more beautiful. When she started to glance around in confusion, I typed a message.
Me: Pretend it’s not from me. Wear them. It’s cold.
She huffed, her expression hard as she slammed the door shut, determined to ignore the gift after reading the message. She strode past it, and she stopped, her body tensing. Then, she gave in, gritting her teeth as she grabbed the box and disappeared back inside. Minutes later, when she came back out, the shoes were on her feet. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the effort of pretending she didn’t appreciate it.
But she did.
24
AINSLEY
He was manipulating me.
And I hated that I was giving in.
I kicked my left foot in anger, almost tripping over my own legs. The shoes were exactly my size, of course—no surprises there. He probably knew my bra size too. Was there anything about me Theon didn’t know? Doubtful. But was there something about him I didn’t know? Hah, a lot.
“Christ Jesus!” a woman’s voice screamed from inside a nearby house. “Take that fucking skeleton out of the damn house, fool!” Two boys’ laughter followed, probably the culprits of some Halloween prank. I glanced at the house, its lawn freshly cut and littered with all sorts of Halloween decorations—skeletons hanging from the windows, fake spider webs draped over bushes. The boys had likely gone overboard, judging by the poor woman’s outburst.
As I kept walking, I noticed every house on the street had similar setups—yards drenched in pumpkins, ghosts, and skeletons. Halloween had officially arrived. I wasn’t exactly in the festive mood now, but the decorations were hard to ignore.
I made my way down the street, feeling each heated step from the shoes he sent me. Damn him. I’d resisted, stubbornly leaving them on the porch when at first, but in five blinking seconds, I’d caved. And now, I was wearing them, letting them mould to my feet like he’d planned. He just successfully got under my skin.
