I’m being threatened.
Is this you?
If you don’t want to see me, just tell me. There’s no need for childish pranks.
If this doesn’t stop, I’m going to the police.
These are DEATH THREATS.
I sat up properly and opened the thread, reading through everything before replying.
Me:I have no idea what you’re talking about. You know I only have this number and my work one. Why would I threaten you?
A moment later, a screenshot appeared.
Unknown:If you don’t leave Lielit alone, fragments of your skull and brain matter will be smeared all over your shitty little Porsche. Because I will cave your fucking head into it.
Unknown:What did I tell you?
Unknown:Do it again. I fucking dare you.
Unknown:You’re dead.
“Fucking hell,” I breathed, staring at the screen as the weight of it settled in.
I tried calling him. It rang until it went to voicemail.
I tried again. Same result.
I rubbed my eyes and typed out a message.
Me:Pick up your phone. Those messages weren’t from me.
The reply came almost immediately.
Darius:Please leave me alone. I’m blocking your number.
My jaw dropped as I stared at the screen.
What the actual fuck was going on?
I reread the screenshots again. And again.
I mean, sure—I’d had intrusive thoughts before. Everyone did. But never like this. Never so vivid. So specific. These weren’t messages a rational human being would send.
And definitely not a woman.
So who was he?
How did he know what we were messaging—in real time?
A chill crept down my spine.
One thing was clear: someone had access to my messages.
I powered my phone down and set my alarm on my work phone instead. First thing in the morning, I’d take it somewhere—get it checked, scanned, whatever it was the tech people did.
Even after switching off the lamp, the unease lingered, clinging to me like a second skin. It wasn’t until sheer exhaustion dragged me under that my eyes finally closed.
