Page 66 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

I lean back in the chair and study her carefully. Her red hair falls loose around her shoulders. She's wearing an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of leggings that hug her curves. She looks soft and vulnerable, but the tension in her body tells a different story.

"You don't look fine," I say.

"I'm just worried about the footprints," she says, still not meeting my eyes. "Someone was watching me. That's terrifying."

It is terrifying, but her reaction feels disproportionate. The back door opens and Nick and Alex return. Nick's expression is darker than before, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger. Alex moves to the counter and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

"The tracks are fresh," Nick says. "Probably from this afternoon based on the mud consistency. Whoever it was stood directly outside the kitchen window for several minutes before retreating back into the woods."

"We need to relocate her," Alex says immediately. "This location is too exposed. Too many access points, too much cover in the surrounding trees. We can't secure it properly."

This cottage is a security nightmare, and now that we know someone's actively surveilling it, staying here is dangerous. But Marla hasn't said a word since they came back inside. She's still sitting at the table, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles have gone white.

I watch her carefully, noting the way her chest rises and falls with each controlled breath. The way her eyes stay fixed on the table surface and her entire body is rigid with tension.

"Marla," I say quietly.

She doesn't respond.

"Marla," I repeat, my voice firmer this time.

She finally looks up, and I see something in her blue eyes that makes my chest tighten. It's not just fear. It's recognition. Like she knows exactly who left those footprints outside her window.

"What's really bothering you?" I ask.

"I told you," she says. "Someone was watching me."

"That's not what I'm asking." I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. "You're scared, but you're not surprised. You know something."

Nick and Alex both turn their attention to her immediately. The atmosphere in the cottage shifts, becoming heavier and more focused. Marla's breathing quickens, and I can see her struggling to maintain her composure.

"I don't know anything," she says, but her voice wavers.

"You're lying," Alex says flatly.

The accusation makes her flinch. She looks between the three of us, her eyes wide and her face even paler than before. For a long moment, she doesn't speak. Then her composure cracks.

"There's this ex," she says quietly. "His name is Zach."

The name hangs in the air between us. I feel something cold settle in my gut, an instinct that tells me this is important, and a twinge of jealousy that has no business being there.

"Tell us about him," I say, keeping my voice calm and even.

Marla's hands unclench slowly, and she wraps her arms around herself like she's trying to hold herself together. "We dated for about a year. He was charming at first, attentive, but he became possessive and controlling. When I tried to break up with him, he wouldn't accept it. He kept showing up at my apartment, calling me constantly, and telling me I was making a mistake."

"How long ago was this?" Nick asks.

"Six months," she says. "That's why I moved here. I needed to get away from him."

"And you think he found you," Alex says.

"I don't know," Marla says, her voice shaking. "Maybe. He's the type who doesn't handle rejection well. His pride couldn't take it."

"What else?" I press. "There's more you're not telling us."

She hesitates, then takes a shaky breath. "His father, Tom, is the mayor. Zach grew up wealthy and popular, and used to getting whatever he wanted. When I ended our relationship, it wounded his ego. He told me I'd regret it. That I couldn't just walk away from him."

The information clicks into place immediately. A mayor's son with resources and connections. Someone who could track her down if he was determined enough. Someone who might be angry enough to make her life difficult.