Coffee shop. The Georgetown waterfront to shoot a campaign with my tripod. The grocery store. The metro. Christian’s apartment.
The list wasn’t long, but save for Christian’s house, every place had been crowded for someone to slip the note into my bag without me noticing.
The silence of the apartment morphed into something thick and ominous, interrupted only by my shallow, gasping breaths.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs, and I—
The harsh, jarring ring of the doorbell ripped through the quiet and caused every hair on my skin to stand on end.
It was the stalker. It had to be. No one would visit this late at night without notice.
Oh, God.
I needed to hide, call 911, do something, but my body refused to obey my brain’s commands.
The doorbell rang again, and my fight or flight finally kicked in.
I stumbled toward the nearest hiding spot—a side table wedged between the couch and the air-conditioning unit. The phantom breath of my stalker brushed against my neck as I crawled beneath the table.
I could feel him behind me, a malevolent presence whose icy fingers clawed at my shirt and squeezed the oxygen from my lungs.
The floor tilted, and my head collided with one of the table legs as I attempted to sink as deep into the darkness as possible.
The pain was only a whisper of sensation compared to the chills swamping my skin.
Another ring of the doorbell, followed by knocking.
“Stella!”
I couldn’t distinguish who the voice belonged to. I didn’t even know if it was real.
I just wanted it to go away.
I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. The A/C was off, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
I wasn’t ready to die. I’d barely lived.
The knocks continued, growing louder and more frequent until they finally stopped. A pause ensued, followed by the sound of a key turning in the door.
Footsteps echoed against the hardwood floors, but they paused when a whimper clawed up my throat.
A few seconds later, a pair of black leather loafers stopped in front of me.
I squeezed my eyes shut and scooted deeper into the corner until my back hit the wall.
Pleasepleaseplease—
“Stella.”
I had a taser in my bag. Why hadn’t I grabbed my taser? I’d only held onto the letter, which I’d dropped onto the floor next to me. It was useless as a weapon unless I planned to paper cut the intruder to death.
Stupid, useless, disappointing…
Tears burned behind my closed lids.
Would my family care if I died? They might be sad at first, but eventually, they’d be relieved that the family’s biggest disappointment was gone. They hadn’t even wanted me. I’d been an accident, a disruption in their long-running plan to only have one child.
If I died, they could finally get their plan back on track. If I—
A hand grasped my chin and tilted it up.
“Stella, look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in my well of denial forever.
If I can’t see the monster, it doesn’t exist.
But the voice didn’t sound like it belonged to a monster. It sounded deep and velvety and too authoritative for me not to obey.
I slowly opened my eyes.
Whiskey. Fire. Warmth.
My chills skittered away at the banked fury glimmering beneath those dark pools of concern, but Christian’s face softened when our gazes connected.
“You’re okay.”
Only two words, but they contained such calm reassurance that the dam inside me finally broke.
A sob tore from my throat, and moisture spilled past my eyes until his face blurred.
I heard a low curse before strong arms engulfed me, and my face pressed against something hard and solid. Immovable, like a mountain in a storm.
I curled into Christian’s embrace and let out weeks of stress and anxiety until I ran dry. It wasn’t just the note, though that had been the tipping point. It was D.C. Style, my family, Delamonte, my social media, and the deep-rooted sense that no matter how hard I tried, I would never live up to the expectations of those around me. That I would always be a disappointment.
It was my life.