Nothing. No voice. No movement on the other side of the door. No second knock.
Maybe Eli forgot something? He could've –
Another knock. Louder. I flinched before I could stop myself.
It wasn't Eli. He always called out to let me know it was him.
My stomach turned, and I suddenly felt far too visible where I was sitting. I slid down into the sofa, curling in as I lowered myself until I couldn't see the front door. My hands clenched as I tried to breathe around the sudden tightness in my chest. The flat went silent again, but that only made it worse.
My gaze darted to the kitchen table. I'd left my phone out there. Typical. Of course I hadn't brought it with me, but I didn't dare get up to grab it. If Marcus was out there listening, I didn't want to make any noise. I didn't want him to know I was home.
Any doubts I might have had vanished when his voice cut through the silence, muffled by the door but no lessthreatening. "You're acting like a child, Rowan. Hiding in there won’t fix anything."
My hands started to shake again. Useless, jittery tremors I couldn't stop. I curled in tighter and pressed myself deeper into the cushions, trying to get myself under control. Every breath felt more shallow than the last as I fought the rising panic.
"He's not going to stay, ya know. He'll get tired of you eventually. They always do."
My fingers dug into the cushion. I didn't want to listen. I tried to block him out, but he knew exactly where to aim.
"He feels sorry for you. That's all it is. He's got a whole life in London. He's not going to give all that up to play nursemaid for the rest of his life."
That one hit too close. I shook my head like it might physically throw the words out of my brain.
He went quiet for a minute, but I could hear him moving around outside the door. The camera would catch him. Eli would see this. I just had to wait him out.
"I'm not the bad guy here, Rowan. I just want to talk. You can't shut me out forever."
That's exactly what I planned to do. It was the only thing Icoulddo right now. I didn't have the strength to open that door and listen to whatever manipulative nonsense he planned to throw at me this time.
And he'd already tried to kill me once. He'd absolutely do it again.
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me. Open the door."
There was that tone again. The same one I heard the night I thought I was going to die.
Somehow, I managed to shrink even further into the sofa. I pulled my knees tight to my chest and tried to disappear, even though I knew he couldn't see me. I could feel the shakes ramping back up, small at first, then spreading until they rattled through my chest. My hands went cold. My stomach churneditself into knots.
The silence pressed on for what felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a minute or two. Then, finally, his voice came through one last time. Calm again. Too calm. "Fine. But I'm not done with you, Rowan."
I didn't move. Not when I heard him walk away. Not when his footsteps trailed off down the hall. Not when the silence lasted so long I knew he had to be gone.
My body didn't trust the quiet. If I so much as twitched, I was sure I'd hear his fist slam into the door again. But several minutes passed. Long ones. I counted my breaths, focused on the texture of the cushions under my fingers. Anything that would anchor me back down.
Eventually, I pried myself upright and made my way to the kitchen on legs that didn't feel like they belonged to me. I fumbled for the phone and nearly dropped it as I unlocked the screen. My thumb trembled against the app icon for the camera feed, and it took two tries before it loaded.
The image steadied, and I scanned the view. The hall was empty. All I saw was the dim, uneven light and scuffed hardwood floor. Right now, it was the most welcome sight in the world.
I exhaled hard – so hard it startled me – and my knees buckled. I dropped into the nearest chair with a rough thud and buried my face in my hands.
I couldn't move for a long time. My body turned to stone the second I hit the chair. Every muscle locked up, and I felt too numb to try to move. I didn't know how long I sat there, but it was more than enough time for Marcus's words to weasel their way back in.
He's not going to stay.
It wasn't just a jab. Ihadwondered about it countless times over the past couple of months. I'd often asked myself how long this would last. How long before Eli realised whathe'd signed up for and decided it was too much.
Because itwastoo much.Iwas too much. I couldn't even spend an hour alone without falling apart.
He feels sorry for you.
