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“No,” I cut him off. “You listen to me. Everything that’s been happening, it’s been you, and this whole fucking time I thought it was some scary stranger. I thought I could trust you to not do something so fucked up.”

Hudson’s face goes pale, but his expression is what really catches my attention. It isn’t quite guilt, but it isn’t showing innocence either.

“Stay away from me. Stay as far away from me as you possibly can—and when you think you’ve gone far enough? Keep. Fucking. Going.”

I shift towards the office, my legs steady despite the earthquake happening on the inside. I can feel his eyes on my back and sense him starting to follow, but I don’t turn back around. I push through the office door, allowing it to slam behind me.

Lydia looks up from her computer, concern creasing her features. “Everything alright, dear?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine,” I manage with a sigh, sinking into the chair at my desk.

But it isn’t fine. Nothing is fine. Hudson is stalking me; he’s been writing me love letters and leaving flowers for me to find for days—some twisted courtship ritual he was trying out.

How long had he been planning to do this?

So many times, I’d confided in Hudson about smaller issues in my relationship, and all along, I was unknowingly giving him ammunition. Late nights together were nothing more than opportunities to take notes on what was going wrong in my life.

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. The worst part isn’t even the deception; it’s how I have been completely misreading everything. I’ve been so naive.

* * *

The rest of my shift passes in a haze of mechanical motions. Process returns, answer reference questions, and assist in finding books, all while avoiding any interaction with Hudson. Every time I sense him nearby, my whole body shudders as I think about how every casual comment or offer to help now feels loaded with sinister intentions.

By the time I finally escape the library, I feel as if my insides are scooped out and I’m left only a shell. I need someone safe.

I practically throw myself through the door of mine and Blaire’s favorite coffee shop, nearly knocking the drink out of her hand as I wrap her in the tightest hug I can manage.

“Whoa there, tiger,” she laughs, but her arms come around me just as tightly. When I finally let go, she studies my face with those bold blue eyes. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. And not in a sexy-mysterious ‘what has she been up to’ kind of way.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, sliding into the chair across from her. She pushes a coffee toward me, my usual order already waiting. “You look incredible, as always.”

“I know. But I’m not here to talk about how devastatingly gorgeous I am. I’m here to make sure my best friend is still alive and breathing. What happened?”

I’m not even sure where to start; the past few days have felt like they happened to someone else in a completely different universe.

“Remember how I told you about the notes and flowers?”

Blaire nods, finishing her sip. “Your secret admirer. Did you find out who it is?”

“Hudson. I’m pretty sure it’s Hudson.”

“Hudson from work?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit, Wynnie, how did you find out?”

I tell her everything. The confrontation in front of Preston, Hudson’s controlling, weird behavior, and his sudden date request. The way all the pieces seemed to come together. As I speak, I watch Blaire’s expression shift from shock to disgust to protective fury.

“That manipulating little piece of shit. None of that is romantic—it’s fucking predatory, Wynnie. I hope you’re going to do something about it.”

Hearing her say that out loud… it makes it real in a way that terrifies me.

“I feel so stupid. Three years, Blaire; I’ve been working with him for three years, and I never even saw it coming.”

“You’re not stupid; don’t say that. You’re trusting. Guys like Hudson and Caleb, they count on that. They present themselves as safe and friendly, all while they’re gathering all the information because they’re nasty little fuck-heads. Then they wait for the perfect moment to pounce.”

“What if—”

“Stop.” Blaire reaches across the table and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. “Your intuition is telling you something is off. Trust it. Even if you are wrong about the notes—which I doubt—his behavior today is totally gross.”

As always, she’s right. Ghost aside, what Hudson was doing was crossing boundaries I didn’t know I needed to set.