But I know this. I’m not letting the people I care about bleed quietly while pretending everything’s fine.
Not on my watch.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Delaney
I don’t meanto hide.
That’s the lie I tell myself while I sit on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up, phone face down on the nightstand like it might start screaming if I look at it again. I tell myself I just need a minute. Just enough time to breathe without anyone watching.
The truth is, I don’t trust my face yet.
It still feels like it might give me away. If I walk out, everyone will see the cracks I worked so hard to glue together on the drive home. My eyes burn. My chest feels bruised from the inside out, like something slammed into me and didn’t leave a visible mark.
And underneath it all, quiet but insistent, is Marcus.
The realization hits again, sharp as it did in the café.
He found me.
The thought spirals fast, relentless. He found me here. After everything I did to disappear. After changing my routines, shrinking my life, and convincing myself that distance and silence were enough to keep me safe.
I came to the middle of nowhere on purpose.
I chose a town so small it barely exists on a map. I took a job that didn’t come with press or prestige or a name worthremembering. I stopped posting. Stopped tagging locations. Stopped being visible.
And it didn’t matter.
My pulse stutters.
If he found me once, what else does he know?
How long has he known?
Has he been watching? Waiting? Is this town another temporary stop in his mind, another place he can step into and rearrange at will?
My stomach flips hard, panic curling tight and hot under my ribs. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. My breath goes shallow again, chest hitching. My body remembers before I do what it feels like to be cornered.
His voice slips in uninvited.
Smooth. Familiar. Confident.
I missed you.
You don’t belong here.
You’re wasting yourself.
My skin prickles as if he’s still too close, like he might be standing just outside the door, waiting for me to crack it open. I glance around the room instinctively, heart pounding, even though I know he isn’t here.
Isn’t he?
The thought is irrational and immediate and terrifying anyway.
My hands start to shake. I curl my fingers into the mattress, pressing my thumb hard into the fabric until the pressure borders on pain. Grounding. Here. Now. Ranch. Bedroom. Door locked.
He can’t just take me back.
