Anna's hands trembled as she shoved her few clothes into an old canvas bag.
Every sound in the tiny room made her flinch — the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the fridge, the quiet, steady breathing of the stranger who now stood in her home like he owned it.
Ethan Cole — his name felt unreal on her tongue. She'd heard it before somewhere, on TV maybe. Rumors about the cold billionaire who ruined rivals overnight and fired people just for breathing wrong.
And now he was here. With her.
She stole a glance over her shoulder. He stood by the window, back straight, phone pressed to his ear — not the phone, but his own. He spoke in low, calm tones that made her skin crawl.
She didn't understand any of this. Two hours ago she was broke, hungry, and trying to sleep through her fear. Now she was packing her life into a bag because a ghost told her not to hang up — and this man told her not to stay.
She zipped the bag and turned to face him. "I'm not going with you."
He ended his call without looking at her. "Yes, you are."
Anna hugged the bag to her chest like a shield. "I don't even know you. You break into my home, you threaten me—"
"You answered the call." Ethan's eyes flicked to her. Cold, steady, and empty. "That makes you my problem."
"I didn't ask for your help!" She hated how her voice cracked.
Ethan stepped closer, closing the space between them until the bag pressed into his chest. "You think you have a choice, Anna?"
He said her name like he owned it. Like he owned her.
"Open the door and leave, then," he said. "Run. Smash the phone. Throw it into the river. See what happens."
Anna opened her mouth, but no words came out.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
"Do you know how many before you tried that?" His voice dropped to a whisper that made her stomach twist. "Twelve. Every one of them answered that phone. Every one thought they could run."
She swallowed. "What happened to them?"
His eyes never blinked. "Why do you think the phone keeps ringing?"
A chill danced down her spine. She stepped back, her bag dropping to the floor with a dull thud.
Ethan slipped the cursed phone from his inner pocket. Its screen flickered in the dim light, the glow reflected in his cold eyes.
He held it out to her. "Take it."
Anna shook her head. "No."
"Take it, Anna."
Her fingers refused to move, but her feet betrayed her. She stepped forward, chest heaving, and took the phone. It felt warm in her palm — too warm.
The moment she touched it, the screen lit up:
1 NEW VOICEMAIL
She looked up at him, but his expression was carved from stone. "Play it."
Anna's thumb hovered over the play icon. "I don't want to—"
His hand closed around her wrist, firm but not cruel — just final. "You don't get to want anymore."
Her breath caught. She tapped the screen.
Static filled the tiny room. Then a voice — one that made her blood turn to ice.
"Anna… you shouldn't have let him in."
Her knees buckled. Ethan caught her elbow, holding her steady like he was bored of her weakness.
The voicemail continued. "He can't save you. He thinks he can break the curse. He can't. He's next."
Ethan's jaw tightened, but his grip didn't waver. "Ignore it."
Anna's vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. "What is this? Who are they? Why me?"
He let go of her arm and brushed invisible dust off his sleeve. "Pack your bag. We leave in five minutes."
Anna stared at the phone in her hand, its screen now dark again — like it had never spoken. Like she was the only one who'd heard the threat.
She looked at Ethan. He looked back, cold and patient.
"Where are you taking me?" she whispered.
"Somewhere they can't reach you," he said. His eyes flicked to the door. "Yet."
A distant sound echoed in the hallway — a soft tap, tap, tap, like nails on the door.
Anna's pulse skipped. Ethan's hand dropped to his pocket — she hadn't noticed the gun tucked under his jacket until now.
He smiled — a smile with no warmth.
"Five minutes, Anna. Or we both die here."