The accusation hangs in the air between us, heavy and charged with the realization of everything I’ve uncovered. For a moment, Saint doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to deny it, doesn’t attempt to explain. Instead, he lifts his eyes from the suitcase to my face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating, and the longer it goes on, the more terrified I become. I would rather he yell at me, berate me, anything but this cold, quiet stare.
His eyes bore into mine, piercing through the distance between us like those of a predator assessing its prey. His face remains expressionless, his body unnervingly still, but there’s something in the way he looks at me that chills me to the bone. It’s the kind of quiet that feels more piercing than any words could be, like he’s calculating his next move, deciding what to do with me now that the truth is out.
I try to take another step back, but my legs feel like they’ve turned to lead, unmovable. I’m trapped, and we both know it. I don’t know what to say, or how I could defuse the tension. No clever words come to me. The silence between us is louder than my scream, louder than any sound I’ve ever heard.
And then, “Why did you look me up?” He takes a small step toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
My throat is dry, and I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “You lied to me.” I’m embarrassed by the audible fear when I speak. “You lied about everything. I needed to know.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. He takes another step toward me, and I instinctively take a step back,my back pressing up against the doorframe. I can feel the cold wood against my skin, and the realization that I’m cornered sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
“You needed to know?” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “And what exactly did you think you were going to find?” He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us, his presence looming over me like a shadow. “Did you think knowing the truth would change anything?”
I shake my head, my breath quick and shallow.
“What are you going to do about it? Tell yourhusband?”
My mind is screaming at me to run, to do something—anything—but my body won’t cooperate. I’m frozen in place, trapped in this moment, with no way out. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let him see just how scared I am.
“Are you ...” I swallow hard, the fear making it difficult to speak out loud. My voice trembles as I force out the question that’s been clawing at the back of my throat since the moment I saw him standing there. “Are you going to hurt me?”
He shakes his head immediately, his expression one of almost offended disbelief. “What? No.” He answers me as though the question itself is ridiculous, as if I’ve completely misunderstood the situation. How could he possibly think my reaction right now is ridiculous?How can he not see how terrifying this is for me?I’m standing in the middle of a nightmare, and the man I thought I knew is a complete stranger. I have no idea who he is.None.
His name, his job, his life—it’s all been a lie. And now, there’s nowhere to go, and I’m painfully aware of how close he is.
I slide my hand into my back pocket, praying that I can unlock my phone without him noticing. My fingers fumble, slick with sweat, as I try to remember which side button to push to call an emergency number. I can’t let him see what I’m doing. I feel like I’m balancing on a cliff. One wrong move, and everything could fall apart.
I take another step back, slipping from the doorway and into my bedroom, trying to create more space between us, but it feels futile. “Why did you lie to me?” My voice cracks on the last word, a mixture of fear and anger laced into it. I need answers, but more than that, I need him to stay back. To give me time.
He takes a step forward instead, closing the distance between us once again. His expression is unnervingly calm as he says, “It’s what you wanted, Petra.”
The audacity of his words hits me like a slap. I can’t help but fume at that response, my fear momentarily drowned out by a flash of rage. “It’s what I wanted?” I repeat, incredulous. “I didn’t even know you existed before you showed up here pretending to be a detective!” My voice rises with each word, frustration bubbling over. “I know nothing happened out on the road that night. You lied about everything, and you told Mari you were here to help me write. How would you even know to say that?” The accusations and questions spill out in a rush, each one more desperate than the last.
He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at me, like he’s weighing how much to tell me. The gesture is chilling, his calm composure making everything feel even more surreal. “Do you not remember your words two nights before I showed up here?” he asks, his voice eerily soft.
My words?What is he talking about? My mind scrambles to make sense of his question, but nothing clicks.
The confusion must be plain on my face, because he takes another step toward me, his eyes locked onto mine, and says, “Your live video.” His tone is deliberate, like he’s explaining something simple to a child. “You said you wished you could experience the things you write about. You said your character was a cop. Ibroughtthat to you.”
The words are heavy and disorienting.This makes no sense.I try to process what he’s saying, but the pieces don’t fit together. If he showed up here pretending to be a cop because of the live video ... that meanshe knew who I was before he ever walked through my door.He was watching the video as it was live? Two days before I even met him?
Which means ... he’s been following me? He’s in my private group?
My stomach churns with the sickening realization that this wasn’t some random encounter. He’s been planning this. Watching me for God knows how long.How long has he been following me online?The thought makes my skin crawl.
My hand is still in my back pocket, my fingers desperately trying to figure out how to reach 9-1-1 on my phone without looking at it. I keep talking, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping he won’t focus too much on the arm behind my back. “How long have you been watching me?” I need to keep him talking, need to buy myself time.
“Since the beginning.” His tone is casual, like he’s discussing the weather, but the words send a chill down my spine. “I already told you I’ve seen every one of your live videos. I just left out the fact that I watched them as they happened.”
I cover my gasp with my hand, the horror of what he just said sinking in. He’s been watching me for years, and I thought he just found me. I bring my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but the fear is overwhelming.
“Do you even have a wife?” I ask, my voice small, as if I’m afraid of the answer.
He shakes his head, smirking slightly. “Marriage isn’t really my thing.”
The simplicity of his answer makes me feel so naive, as if I should have been able to tell he wasn’t being honest. The lie about being married, the infertility, that was just another layer to his deception, another way to manipulate me. He’s been building this elaborate facade, and I fell for every bit of it.
I see it the second it happens. His gaze drops to my arm, the arm I’ve been trying so hard to hide behind my back. The moment of realization washes over his face, and my stomach drops.He knows.
