And that’s what terrifies me the most.
***
I wake up the next morning to a sight I didn’t expect. Roses. Red, bleeding against the white paper wrapping, theirpetals soft and smooth, still fresh from whoever had sent them. They sit at the front of my door, just like the black orchids, a haunting reminder of what I’ve been trying so desperately to forget all night.
I stare at them for a moment, frustration bubbling in my chest. I don’t know how to handle this. I can’t keep pretending nothing’s happening. He’s pushing me. Lukin is pushing me.
With a sigh, I march down to the lobby, each step heavy, my mind already made up. I can’t stand it anymore. It has to stop.
The doorman, Mr. Wolfe, is there as usual, his attention half on the counter, half on whatever he’s reading. When I reach him, I don’t wait.
“Mr. Wolfe,” I say, my tone firm, trying not to let my frustration bleed through. “Can you please not accept any more flowers for me? I don’t want them.”
He looks up at me, frowning, clearly confused. “It’s just the black orchids, Miss Monroe,” he says. “What are you talking about? No one else has sent anything else, as far as I know.”
I freeze. My stomach sinks. What the hell is going on? He doesn’t know about the roses. That means that whoever dropped them off was in front of my door.
I clear my throat, trying to recover. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice softer now. “I just… thought, uhm—never mind.”
Mr. Wolfe nods slowly, but he doesn’t press further, and I hurry back to my apartment, heart pounding. Like yesterday, I grab the rose bouquet and thrash them in the bin. The black orchids are still there and I shut the roses in there too.
Once I’ve disposed of them, I grab my jacket and rush out of the apartment, my heart still racing, the tension never quiteleaving my chest. I need to get out of here, away from the chaos of everything. I can’t think, can’t breathe, not in this space.
The morning is still crisp outside, but it’s better than the suffocating air inside. I keep walking, trying to clear my head, trying to forget about the man who’s determined to invade every corner of my life.
But I know, deep down, that I can’t escape him. And part of me doesn’t want to. It’s like a game and we’re both trying to see who will break first.
***
The evening air is crisp as I walk home from my store, the familiar chill cutting through my jacket. Jenni stopped by earlier, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe again. We spent hours talking, laughing—she didn’t even have to try to make me forget about Lukin. For a few hours, I was able to focus on me, my friend, on my designs, on my future.
But now, as the cold nips at my skin, I’m back to reality. I hunch my shoulders against the wind, my thoughts momentarily drifting back to the store, to the bustle of the day. I force myself to keep going, to put everything else out of my mind—Lukin, the flowers, everything.
As I press on, I hear it.
A whistle.
I turn, instinctively looking over my shoulder.
A man is approaching fast, a smirk playing on his lips as he gets closer. I try to quicken my pace, hoping I can outrun him, but he matches my steps, his presence looming behind me.
“Hey,” he calls out, his voice laced with a mixture of arrogance and casual intent. “You’re so sexy.”
I feel my pulse quicken, unease creeping up my spine as he steps closer. “Let me have your number. I promise I don’t bite,” he adds, his grin widening. “Unless you ask.”
His wink feels like a threat, but before I can react, a shadow falls over me. A tall figure steps out from the darkness.
A man, dressed all in black, moves with purpose, silently intercepting the guy. He yanks the man away from me, spinning him around with a force that makes the stranger stumble.
“Get away from her,” the tall man growls in a thick accent, his voice low and dangerously calm. “Before I hurt you.”
I’m frozen, my heart pounding in my chest, unable to make sense of what’s happening. The stranger scrambles back, eyes wide with fear, and without a second glance, he runs off, disappearing into the night.
The tall man doesn’t move, his posture still rigid as he stands between me and the path the other man took. His face is unreadable, cold. He doesn’t speak a word, just watches me, his presence as commanding as it is unsettling.
I stand there, my breath shaky, unsure of what to say. I’m still trying to catch up with what just happened.
Finally, I take a step forward, my voice unsteady. “Who the hell are you?” I demand, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “What the hell just happened?”
