And him...
Sheifer.
The name hits me like a punch, but the sight—or maybe the absence of sight—makes my stomach tighten. He’s here. I just know it. Inside my house. My sanctuary. The lake house that’s supposed to be safe.
I swallow hard. My hands shake. The itch under my skin buzzes like electricity, making me jittery, tense, too aware of every sound. I clamp down.I will notlose it. Not today. Not in front of him.
I drop the mug—careful, not clanging—and creep toward the hall. My breathing is shallow, uneven. Every step is measured. I’m alive in the sound of the floor beneath my feet, the hum of the fridge, the wind against the window—but I also notice the silence. The unnatural stillness.
He’s not supposed to be here. I know his history. Seven years of terror, watching, waiting, sneaking into my head when I least expectit. And he’s back in the literal sense. Somehow, he’s gotten past every measure Ethan put in place.
A flash of anger fires through me.
Not today, asshole. Not ever.
I grip the banister hard. My heart hammers, but my brain clicks into gear. I’ve survived this before. I’ve survived worse. And now I havehim. Not just me. Ethan. That gives me strength.
I reach front room see him—he’s in the shadow of the doorway, calm, patient, too quiet. That’s what makes him dangerous. The way he moves like he belongs. Like he’s claimed the space without even asking.
Michael Sheifer.
He looks bigger than my nightmares and somehow worse—all angles and shadows, clothes hanging off him like he stole them from a scarecrow. His eyes are wrong, too bright, too hungry. Greasy blond hair plastered to his temples, scruff over his jaw like he forgot to be human for a while.
But his smile—
That smile I haven’t seen in seven years, not since the courtroom. It crawls up my spine like a cold hand.
“Hello, Lucky.”
My pulse slams so hard it hurts.
I force my feet to stay planted.
His gaze drags over me, slow, familiar, obsessive.
“You dyed your hair,” he says softly, almost disappointed. “The pink is gone.”
His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for me.
“It’s okay.” His smile widens. “We’ll just dye it back. Pink suits you. It’s how the world remembers you. How you’ll be remembered forever.”
My stomach drops.
Remembered.
Past tense.
There’s always been an endgame with him, hasn’t there? Not fame. Not closeness. Not obsession.
A story that ends with me frozen in time. Permanent. Preserved.
Dead.
I force air into my lungs, slow, controlled. Ethan’s voice echoes in my head—stay calm, stay aware, don’t give him what he wants.
My voice somehow comes out steady. “Michael… you don’t have to do this.”
He tilts his head, bird-like, curious. “I do. You left me no choice. You went quiet. Disappeared.” His eyes flare. “You leftme.”
