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The room feels smaller. My tea has gone cold. My thoughts start stacking up, one on top of the other. Suddenly I can’t tell which ones are mine and which ones are fear wearing a familiar face.

“What if I’m doing this because it feels powerful to be chosen?” I ask, more to myself than her. “What if I’m ignoring red flags because I don’t want to go back to being invisible?”

Jo doesn’t answer right away. She reaches out and squeezes my knee. “I just don’t want you getting hurt again. And I don’t trust men who mark territory.”

That does it.

By the time she leaves, after hugs and reassurances and promises to check in, I’m more wrecked than I was before she arrived. The doubts have teeth now. They pace. They ask better questions.

I curl up on the couch again, phone in my hand, staring at Ethan’s name without opening the thread, because I don’t know what I’d say if I did.

I try to distract myself the responsible way. I rinse my mug. I wipe the counter that was already clean. I open my laptop and close it again without reading a word. Every attempt at normalcy slides off me like I’m made of Teflon today.

My phone buzzes.

I glance down, expecting the group chat or maybe Ethan, and my stomach drops when I see a number I don’t recognize. No name. No picture. Just digits.

Unknown: You look better when you’re scared.

I freeze.

I stare at the screen, waiting for my brain to supply context or logic or anything useful, but it doesn’t. It just tightens. I tell myself it’s a wrong number. A bad joke. Spam that took a weird turn.

Then another message comes through.

Unknown: Did you really think running once meant you’d never have to do it again?

My pulse kicks hard enough that I have to put the phone down for a second, like physical distance might help. It doesn’t. I pick it back up, fingers already cold.

Me: Who is this?

The reply comes almost immediately.

Unknown: You know exactly who this is about.

My chest feels tight now, not panic yet but something close enough to make my breaths shallow. I stand up without realizing it and pace the length of the living room, my socks sliding on the floor.

Unknown: You didn’t do a very good job of running the first time, Lila.

My vision blurs, and it takes me a second to realize my eyes are watering. Someone who knows where to press.

Me: If this is a joke, stop.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Then the phone buzzes again.

Unknown: He said you were special too, remember?

He said he chose you, you belonged to him.

My stomach turns.

I sit down hard on the couch, my knees suddenly weak, and I feel the old instinct flare, sharp and unwelcome. The scan for exits. The urge to minimize. To go quiet and wait it out.

Unknown: Funny thing is, you didn’t really run from him.

You just waited until someone else picked you up.

The room feels smaller, like the walls leaned in when I wasn’t looking. My thoughts tangle, past and present blurring together in a way I hate. I think of Ethan’s note.You’re mine. No one else gets to have you.I think of Jo’s voice, careful and worried. I think of how easily my body relaxes when his hand settles at my waist.