The next lady, dressed in a blue oversize T-shirt and a pair of black denim trousers, sat in a black swivel chair with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. From the rhythmic movement of her leg, it was clear she wasn't asleep, just lost in thought.
"Anyone who saw how desperate you were to get away yesterday would've assumed the president himself was waiting for you at home," came a voice from near the glass exit.
The man, Maxwell, sat just a few feet away, his sharp gaze fixed on her face.
"It's almost daylight. Why aren't you making any effort to go home?" he pressed, watching her intently.
"And aren't you worried about what your employees will think if they walk in and find you wearing the same outfit from yesterday?" Maxwell continued, clearly unfazed by Rebecca's silence.
To anyone listening, it might have seemed like genuine concern, but his motives weren't so pure. He didn't truly care about her reputation. He wanted one thing: to find out where she lived. And if she refused to leave the shop, how could he follow her?
"Aren't you worried you'll scare your customers away if you don't freshen up...?"
"If you know all that, then I wonder what the hell you're still doing here?" Rebecca snapped, her eyes flying open as she tilted her head and glared at him.
"And if not for you, do you think I'd be stuck here staring at your dumb face instead of getting some sleep like every other normal worker?" she hissed. Springing to her feet, she snatched her handbag from the table and marched toward the exit, only to stop when she saw Maxwell stand up too.
"What a jerk," she muttered when she realized he meant to follow. With a frustrated grunt, she flung her bag back across the table and stomped into one of the inner rooms.
She returned moments later now wearing work outfit with cleaning tools in her hands.
"You said you're not her," Maxwell remarked, eyes trailing her every move. "So why are you so bothered about me following you home, unless you've got something to hide?"
"Which woman wouldn't act this way if she were being stalked by some lunatic claiming she's someone she's not?" Rebecca shot back, her voice cold and defensive. "Plenty of innocent women have died like that. I refuse to be one of them."
"And you think you'd still be alive now if I meant to harm you from the beginning?" he asked, rising slowly from his seat.
He took a step toward her.
Startled, Rebecca instinctively stepped back. Her trembling hands betrayed the fear she tried so hard to mask.
"Try anything, and I swear you'll regret it," she warned, pulling a pair of hair-trimming scissors from the waistband of her trousers where she'd hidden them the night before.
Maxwell halted, grinning. "Now this... this is the Jennie I remember."
His eyes lit up with satisfaction as he looked into her fierce, narrowed eyes.
"She was never afraid of anyone. Always ready for a fight, even one she knew she'd lose. That's who you've always been, Jennie. I can't believe it took me an entire night to bring her out," he said, slowly raising his hands in surrender and backing away.
"And no, I don't have a death wish, so I'll retreat for now," he added, the grin still dancing on his face like he'd won a prize.
"What else should I expect from a lunatic?" Rebecca muttered, scoffing as she bent to pick up the vacuum cleaner she'd dropped earlier.
Though she despised his presence, she had little choice but to endure the weight of Maxwell's watchful eyes wherever she moved.
Twenty minutes before the shop's usual opening time, three of Rebecca's employees arrived and were stunned to find the door unlocked.
"Why's the shop open?" Tyler whispered, hesitant to take another step inside. "Didn't Miss Rebecca say she'd lock up after cleaning?"
"Miss Rebecca would never forget to lock up. It's not in her nature," Lamar said sharply, already pulling out her phone. "This has to be a break-in."
She hadn't even finished dialing the police hotline when Bernard stopped her. "Hold on. Maybe we should take a closer look before making a false report."
They pushed the door open cautiously and froze in place.
"Miss Rebecca?" they gasped in unison, stunned.
Relief washed over their faces, though it was quickly replaced by confusion.
Had they almost reported their own boss for breaking into her own shop?
"Miss Rebecca, what are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to take today off? Did you forget something last night?" Tyler asked, concern lacing her tone. Her long, curly golden hair bounced as she turned to get a better look at her boss.
"Isn't that the same outfit you wore yesterday? Didn't you go home?" Bernard added, frowning.
"She sure didn't," the two ladies chimed in, their eyes now full of curiosity.
So caught up in their questions, they failed to notice the man sitting quietly in the corner.
"Our poor Jerry will be so upset you didn't come home after the surprise he planned..."
"Who's Jerry?" Maxwell's cold voice sliced through the air, making the women jump. They turned, startled to find a stranger in their midst.
"We already have a customer this early?" Tyler whispered, glancing toward him.
"Who is Jerry to her, and why would he be mad she didn't go home?" Maxwell pressed, rising from his seat.
"That's~"
"He's not a customer. Just some guy with loose knots," Rebecca cut in swiftly, silencing Bernard before he could answer.
She quickly moved to another section of the salon. Predictably, Maxwell followed.
"Who's this Jerry they mentioned?" he asked, trailing after her. "Boyfriend? Friend?"
Rebecca gave no indication she heard him. She kept her focus on wiping down the chairs as if he were nothing more than background noise.
Even after the shop opened, Maxwell remained close, lurking in corners and following Rebecca from station to station. She continued to treat him like a ghost, her face an unreadable mask.
The other employees, still puzzled about their boss's early arrival on such a crucial day, found themselves unable to ask questions thanks to Maxwell's relentless presence.
When lunchtime arrived, everyone except Rebecca left for the small restaurant just a stone's throw away.
"You haven't eaten since last night," Maxwell said, approaching her again. "Why don't I take you out for lunch?"
He waited. No response.
"As much as you keep denying it, you know I'm telling the truth. So how long are you going to keep acting like I'm some crazy guy with a wild story?" His tone rose slightly as frustration seeped in. He got up and walked toward her.
"How long will you keep pretending I don't exist, when I'm right here, begging for you to acknowledge me?" he murmured, his voice low and insistent.
He reached her, bending slightly as if to hug her from behind, but Rebecca sprang to her feet so abruptly that he nearly lost his balance.
"Jennie..."
"And who says you look crazy?" Rebecca asked coolly, meeting his gaze for the first time that day. "You don't look crazy, but you're definitely insane. Delusional, even."
She narrowed her eyes. "Make sure you see a psychiatrist when you leave."
"Jennie..."
"Piss off," she yelled, storming into the back room.
Alone at last, Rebecca pulled out her phone and quickly dialed Timberlake's number.
"My Sweet Peanut has never woken up without me by his side," she whispered, eyes brimming with guilt as she waited for the call to connect. "I wonder how my poor baby is coping with the sudden change…"
"Hey, how is Jerry? Did he eat breakfast? How are the tests going? Is the surgery still set for the 14th of June?" she asked anxiously, staring at her own reflection in the sink mirror.
"You're asking about breakfast? Do you even realize it's lunchtime?" Timberlake's voice thundered through the speaker, frustration seeping into every word. His eyes flicked back to the small figure lying in bed, eyes half-open.
"Why are you speaking like that? Did Jerry upset you?" Rebecca asked, quickly turning toward the brown door when she heard faint movement beyond it.
"Are you seriously asking me that? Or are you pretending not to know why I'm mad?" Timberlake snapped. His expression softened when Jerry slowly sat up in his hospital bed in his white polka-dot gown.
"You're mad at me? Why?" Rebecca asked, genuinely confused.
"Do you know how much Jerry cried for you? How much coaxing it took to get him to cooperate with the doctors?" Timberlake asked.
"Tim, do I look like someone who'd leave my son alone on a day like this? Do you really think I have that in me?" Rebecca said in her defense.
"Then what the hell is the problem?" Timberlake demanded, lowering his voice so Jerry wouldn't hear. "What's keeping you away? Isn't it time you told me what's really going on?"
A long pause followed. Rebecca stood still, weighing her options until she finally decided he deserved to know.
"Maxwell found me at the shop last night," she broke the news, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was silence. Then Timberlake's chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"What?" he shouted, shooting to his feet before catching himself and forcing a smile for the child now watching him.