"Avery, I know you're in there." His voice carries through the door, slurred and too loud for the hour. "Your car's in the garage. We need to talk. Please."
My hands start to shake. This is different from him showing up at the executive lobby with flowers and that rehearsed sincerity. This is him at my home, at night, drunk and desperate. This is the Oliver who used to pick fights after wine dinners, who'd twist my words and make everything my fault.
This is dangerous.
"Come on, baby." The pet name makes my skin crawl. "Just open the door. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
I press my back against the wall beside the door, counting my breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Jessica taught me this technique, but my chest still feels too tight, my vision starting to narrow at the edges.
Oliver's fist connects with the door, not quite pounding but forceful enough to make me jump. "You have someone new, don't you?" His voice rises, anger bleeding through the alcohol. "That's why you won't see me. That's why you've changed."
Another hit against the door, harder this time. The sound echoes through my apartment.
"I gave you everything, Avery. Five years!" His voice cracks, shifting from anger to that manipulative hurt that used to make me feel guilty for having boundaries. "And you just threw it away. For what? For him?"
The doorknob rattles. He's trying to turn it, testing if it's locked. The deadbolt holds, but the sound sends pure fear shooting through my veins.
"I know about him," Oliver continues, voice dropping to something uglier. "Your boss. Dylan Vance. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't see what's happening?"
The doorknob rattles again, more aggressively. I can hear him breathing heavily through the door, and can picture the angry flush that always colored his cheeks when he felt challenged.
I know I should call building security. Should handle this myself the way I've been handling everything for weeks. Stand on my own feet, prove I don't need anyone.
But my hands won't stop shaking, and Oliver is testing the door frame now, pushing against it with his shoulder, and terror overrides pride.
I grab my phone from the table, fingers fumbling with the screen. I could call 911. Could call Jessica.
Instead, I call Dylan.
He answers on the first ring, like he's been waiting. "Avery?"
"Oliver's at my apartment." The words come out rushed, breathless. "He's drunk. He won't leave."
A pause. I hear movement on his end, keys jingling, a door closing.
"Lock yourself in your bedroom," Dylan says, his voice shifting into something hard and commanding. "Right now. I'm ten minutes away."
"Dylan—"
"Do it, Avery. Lock the door and stay on the phone with me."
I move quickly down the hallway, Oliver's muffled voice still carrying through the front door. My bedroom door has a lock I've never used, but I turn it now, hearing the click that feels both reassuring and terrifying.
"I'm in my room," I whisper, sitting on the edge of my bed.
"Good." Dylan's voice comes through the phone steady and calm, but I can hear his car engine, the sound of acceleration. "Tell me what happened."
"He just showed up and started pounding on my door, I—" My voice breaks.
