The week passed in uneasy fragments.
Daniel had walked Amara to work every day since the night Chike showed up at her door. She tried to pretend everything was normal, but the heaviness in her chest reminded her that it wasn't. Every shadow on the street, every unfamiliar footstep behind her, set her nerves on edge.
Daniel noticed. His hand often brushed against hers, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone.
By Thursday, Amara thought maybe—just maybe—Chike had given up. But her fragile relief shattered the moment she stepped into her office.
On her desk sat a bouquet of red roses.
Her breath caught in her throat. The card tucked between the stems read:
"Red, like the dress you wore the first time I touched you. You haven't forgotten, have you? Neither have I.
— C"
Amara's hands trembled as she dropped the card, her stomach turning. The words weren't just romantic—they were territorial, a declaration that he still saw her as his possession.
Her coworkers buzzed nearby, oblivious to the storm raging in her chest. She grabbed the bouquet and shoved it into the trash before anyone noticed, but the damage was done. Her pulse refused to settle.
By lunch, Daniel showed up at her office, as promised. He took one look at her pale face and stiff posture and knew something was wrong.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice low, urgent.
Amara hesitated, shame prickling her skin. She didn't want to look weak, didn't want him to see how easily Chike could still shake her. But when Daniel's hand brushed her arm, the truth spilled out.
"He sent me roses. He… he wrote something on the card. It was about our past. About the dress I wore once. He's watching me, Daniel. He remembers everything."
Daniel's jaw clenched, fury simmering beneath the surface. "Where are the flowers?"
"In the trash," she whispered.
Without another word, he strode to the corner, retrieved the bouquet, and crushed it in his hands. The petals scattered across the floor like spilled blood. Several coworkers turned to stare, whispering, but Daniel didn't care. He dropped the broken stems into the bin and turned back to Amara.
"This ends," he said firmly. "He doesn't get to haunt you. Not anymore."
Her eyes stung. "You don't understand—he won't stop. He thinks I still belong to him."
Daniel reached out, cupping her cheek gently. "Then he's about to learn he's wrong. You don't belong to him. And I'll make sure he never comes near you again."
For a moment, his determination steadied her. But deep inside, Amara knew this wasn't over. Chike wasn't the type to retreat quietly. If anything, this felt like the beginning of a dangerous game—one where the stakes kept rising.
Later that evening, as she unlocked her apartment door, she noticed something that made her blood run cold.
A note slipped under her welcome mat.
"If you won't answer me, Amara, I'll make you. I always get what I want.
— Chike"
Her hands shook violently as she read the words.
And this time, for the first time, she realized: Chike wasn't just playing games anymore. He was escalating.
⸻