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His expression softens slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remains. “It’s not a sign of weakness to accept help, Aria. It’s a sign of intelligence.”
“Maybe for you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, “but not for me. Not anymore.” My eyes narrow as I stare at him, daring him to challenge my independence, but deep down, I know that I am slowly crumbling under the weight of my own stubbornness and refusal to accept help.
Zane sighs, leaning back against the headrest. “Fine. If you’re so determined to go in alone, then go, but I’m waiting right here until I know you’re safe.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, pushing the door open and stepping out. As I walk toward the building, a small part of me is grateful for his stubborn insistence, even if I won’t admit it out loud.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I might find inside. The lights are on, just as I said, but the feeling of unease lingers. I glance back at Zane, who watches me intently from outside, where he leans against the hood of the car, and then I head up the stairs to my apartment.
With trembling hands, I turn the key in the lock and push the door open. The weight of Zane’s words rests heavily on my mind, questioning my competence and strength. Doubt creeps in, gnawing at my confidence, but I refuse to back down now. I will prove to myself—and to him—that I am capable, resilient, and unyielding in the face of any challenge. This is my chance to silence his doubts once and for all.
I step inside and close the door behind me, the click of the lock echoing in the silence. I stand at the threshold of my apartment, scanning the familiar space, but something feels off. The air is different, heavier somehow, and a chill runs down my spine. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but an unsettling feeling nags at the edges of my consciousness.
Everything appears normal at first glance. The kitchen light is indeed on, casting a soft glow over the room. My living room is just as I left it, with books scattered on the coffee table and a blanket draped over the back of the couch, but the sense of wrongness persists, making my heart race.
It’s all in my head.
I take a cautious step forward, my senses on high alert. The silence feels oppressive, pressing down on me with an almost tangible weight. I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling as I unlock the screen and hover over Cayenne’s number. A part of me wants to call Zane instead, to admit that maybe I do need help, but my pride holds me back.
“Get a grip, Aria,” I mutter to myself, trying to shake off the unease. “It’s just your imagination.”
As I move deeper into the apartment, the feeling only intensifies. I pause in the hallway, glancing toward the kitchen. The light seems brighter than it should be, almost glaringly so, and then I notice it—the faintest sound, like a whisper of movement, coming from the direction of my bedroom.
Every instinct screams at me to run, to get out of here and call for help, but I force myself to stay calm and assess the situation rationally. My training with Zane has taught me that fear can cloud judgment, and I need to think clearly.
I take a deep breath and step into the hallway, my movements slow and deliberate. The sound grows louder, more distinct. It’s the unmistakable creak of a floorboard and the soft rustle of fabric. Someone is in my apartment.
My heart pounds in my chest as I inch closer to the bedroom door. I reach out, my hand hovering over the doorknob. For a moment, I hesitate, torn between the urge to confront whoever is in there and the need to escape.
I glance back toward the front door, weighing my options. Running means admitting that I need help and that I can’t handle this on my own, but staying could mean facing an unknown threat alone.
Before I can make a decision, the bedroom door swings open, and a figure steps out. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight before me—a tall, menacing shadowy silhouette standing in the doorway. The dim light catches on something metallic in their hand, and I catch a whiff of a familiar, sickening cologne that sends my heart racing.
Oh hell to the no.
For a heartbeat, time seems to stand still, and then the figure moves. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach for the doorknob, fumbling with the lock. With trembling hands, I manage to turn the key and yank the door open. I burst out of the apartment, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing behind me, and I run like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.
I nearly slip and fall on the threshold as I run past, grabbing my door and slamming it as hard as I can. A squeak of fear leaves me as I hear pounding feet.
I race down the stairs as the sound of heavy footsteps echoes behind me. Panic courses through my veins, urging me to move faster and put as much distance as possible between myself and the intruder.
I burst out of the apartment building, the cool night air hitting my flushed skin like a slap. My lungs burn with exertion, and the rapid thud of my heartbeat drowns out all other sounds. Zane is already moving, his body coiled like a spring, eyes sharp and alert as they lock onto the naked terror etched across my face.
“What happened?” he demands, his voice sharp with urgency.
“Someone’s in my apartment,” I tell him, my words tumbling over each other in my haste to explain. “I heard them, and then I saw a figure in the doorway…”
Zane’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he scans the area. “Stay here,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Before he can take a step, the front door of the building slams open, and the intruder emerges. Zane pushes me farther behind him, shielding me with his body as he faces the threat—a chance he never gets because whoever it is takes off toward the back of the building.
The figure darts away, disappearing around the corner of the building before we can get a clear look. Zane curses under his breath and starts to give chase, but I grab his arm, my fingers digging into his skin.
“Don’t,” I plead, my voice shaking. “Please, let’s just go.”
Zane hesitates, his body still poised for action, but as he takes in the fear etched on my face, his expression softens. He nods, placing a reassuring hand on my back as he guides me toward his car.
“Okay,” he agrees, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get out of here.”
