Of course she is.
She never checks exits. Never scans faces. Doesn’t she know sweet girls don’t survive?
“What makes you say that?” I smile like I care.
“I just… have the feeling I’m being watched.”
“By who?”
“Take your pick,” she mutters. “Seems like I’ve collected more enemies than friends the last few months.”
I nod, letting her fear hang in the silence between us.
Sometimes I think it would be easier if Harper was gone—not because I hate her. Hate is easy. This is worse. I feel something, and feelings make me greedy. When I get attached, it doesn’t mean I love you; it means you’re mine. And when something feels like a threat, my brain starts drafting clean solutions. The thought creeps in, quiet and wrong: wanting someone close enough to erase them is just affection, stripped of excuses.
By the time she leaves, she’s still vibrating like a wire about to snap. I watch from the front window as she walks to her rental car, so busy checking over her shoulder she nearly trips on a crack in the driveway.
Blake comes out of the guest room, still shirtless, hair damp from the shower. “What’s with Little Miss Sunshine?”
I smirk. “Someone’s been whispering in her ear.”
“The Watcher?”
“Or a fan,” I say with a shrug. “Maybe Iris. I’m not sure.”
“Think she’ll crack?” he asks.
“Think?” I laugh. “She’s already halfway there. Now I just have to give her a gentle shove.”
* * *
The shove comes two days later. She calls me to meet at Millie’s Diner again.
When I walk in, Harper’s hunched over a manila folder like it’s her last meal. It’s stuffed to bursting—police reports, printouts, probably half the internet’s gossip about me.
I slide into the booth across from her. “Well, this is cozy. Are we doing arts and crafts?”
She ignores the jab. “Shae… why didn’t you tell me about the visitors you had at the facility before you were cleared?”
I tilt my head. “Which visitors?”
Her voice drops. “Brianna’s family.”
“Oh, that.” I wave a hand. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Her knuckles whiten around the folder. “It is a big deal. You said you’d never met them. But this—” She yanks out a page and jabs her finger at it. “This says they came to see you two months before the judge vacated your sentence.”
I let my smile soften. “Harper, are you okay?”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
“You’re starting to sound paranoid,” I continue gently, like I’m talking to a child convinced there’s a monster under thebed. “You’ve been under a lot of stress with the wedding and the retreat… and James being gone all the time…”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Remind you you’ve got too much on your plate? That you’re letting this obsession with me derail everything you’ve been working for?”
She shoves the folder toward me. “This isn’t obsession. It’s fact. Things don’t add up, Shae. The timelines, the witnesses?—”
