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She’s always there to cloud Wynnie’s mind with unnecessary comments and doubts, poisoning her against what she needs to see.

“Blaire,” I hear her voice through the glass, and my fists automatically tighten. “There are… flowers everywhere. They’re all hanging from the ceiling.” A pause. “No, I’m a little freaked out, but you don’t need to come. There’s a note, and it’s signed by Ghost. It’s him.” Another pause. “You think I should call the cops?”

My jaw clenches. I used to blame Caleb for keeping her shackled, but now it’s Blaire. She’s tying an invisible rope around Wynnie, pulling her away from me. I can see Blaire’s panicked face on the screen, her mouth forming urgent words.

She has to go.

Not only is it dangerous for Wynnie to be sharing things about me with Blaire, but Wynnie has to be truly free to be mine. There can be no more disruptive voices in her ear, telling her what to think or what to feel. No more distractions—only us.

I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.

The weight of the knife in my pocket is comforting. Blaire lives alone; no one will miss her for days.

I press my gloved hand against the glass I’m peering through.

You’re almost ready, Wynnie. Almost mine. Just one more obstacle to remove, and then we can begin our real life together.

5

Darling

My conversation with Blaire ends, and I glance around the open space once more before reading the note again. My hands slightly quiver as I hold the delicate paper between my fingers. I still don’t recognize the handwriting, but the way the words curve in this note in particular makes my gut twist.

It’s not so much the message itself but how intimate the words are. How they reach through the paper and touch a guarded place inside of me that I don’t want to be touched.

The scent of flowers is overwhelming. It’s a sickly sweet perfume that clings to the air, along with the must of the wilted ones. Dread sneaks up the back of my neck, vertebra by vertebra. The display is both beautiful and terrifying all at once. It’s strange how I feel totally violated, and at the same time I feel… flattered.

I circle the room slowly, my fingertips brushing the petals of a few fresh roses.

Was it odd that a side of me wanted to pretend that this display had come from love?

For such a long time, I’d felt invisible and worn thin by what Caleb had inflicted on me. The constant criticism, the way he’d make me feel I was disappearing slowly until there was barely anything left of me.

Everyone has always told me what to do, not just now, but my entire life. How to heal, who to become. My mom telling me to brush off her abandonment. Blaire, with her tough-love yet unserious lectures. The therapist I no longer saw, who had set careful goals for me. Even well-meaning co-workers thought they knew what was best for me.

But this?

This is attention in its purest form. Worshipful, almost. Whoever Ghost is—though my only assumption is Hudson—he really sees me. That terrifies me more than the gestures, because beneath the anger and the fear, within the broken segment of myself, is hungry for more.

I take one last look at the flowers, their colors vivid against my plain white walls. I want to keep feeling touched by them, to act as if they are a huge romantic gesture from someone who actually cares about me.

Despite that, I’m tired. I’m over being someone’s obsession—tired of being a thing to be possessed rather than a person to be had.

I flip off the living room light and make my way down the hall to my bedroom, trading my functional adult clothes for a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized T-shirt that hangs loose around my shoulders.

I exhale as the mattress pulls the entire weight of the day from my body. My mind, of course, is restless. I can’t help but think back to the other night with Preston; it replays in detail. His laugh plays in my head, the natural warmth in his eyes when he talks, and the way he lets me be quiet without making it awkward or trying to fill every quiet with meaningless chatter.

There had been a brief moment when our knees grazed beneath the table as he shifted in his seat. It’s like a tiny electric current had jumped between us. It was such a small thing, but it sent heat racing through me.

Sure, I’m fresh off a breakup. Maybe my brain is still scrambled eggs from everything I’ve been through, all the ways my thoughts have been twisted, and it makes me doubt myself entirely, but I feel safe with Preston. It almost feels as if I’m coming home to a place I’ve never been but have always been searching for.

I recall sitting in my car after saying goodbye, parked with my windows cracked, really letting it sink in how good the entire evening felt. I thought about how he’d gotten whipped cream on the corner of his mouth and laughed at himself, unembarrassed. How his tongue darted out to catch the sweetness.

God, the way his tongue had moved—I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel tracing along my neck… my thighs… instead of chasing whipped cream.

I must have looked unhinged sitting there, grinning at myself, because a police officer who was walking past knocked on my window to make sure I was okay.

Meanwhile, Ghost feels like a wall between us.