Isabella's Point of View
I sat on the edge of the couch, the black card and note trembling slightly in my hands. My pulse thundered, every instinct screaming at me that this wasn't safe. And yet… I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.
"Why?" I whispered to the empty apartment, voice small and uncertain. "Why me?"
I knew the answer before it even formed. Sid didn't choose at random. He didn't leave things to chance. He wanted me to feel this—the fear, the tension, the awareness that I wasn't safe. That I was already caught.
My mind raced, replaying that night, the way he had looked at me, the way he moved through the bar like he owned it. The way he had leaned just enough to make my chest tighten, the way his presence lingered even when he was gone.
And now this.
I scanned the envelope again, turning the card over in my hands. The note read: "Don't pretend that you didn't see anything that night. –S"
I should have crumpled it, burned it, thrown it into the trash and locked every door. But I couldn't. A part of me—a foolish, reckless part—wanted to know why. Wanted to see what he would do next.
I paced the small apartment, thinking, planning, trying to push the pull away. My chest was tight, my stomach twisted in knots, and yet my mind couldn't stop circling the same thought: he was here. He was real. And he knew me.
I stopped at the window, peering down at the quiet street below. Shadows stretched long across the sidewalk, and every flicker of movement made my heart skip. A cat darted across the road, a trash bag tumbled in the wind—but my mind saw him. Sid, standing there, watching. Waiting.
I shivered, pulling my arms around myself. The fear was real, yes, but so was the thrill. The impossible, dangerous thrill that made my heart race even as every rational thought screamed to run.
He was playing a game. And I didn't even know the rules.
I sank back onto the couch, gripping the note. My fingers left faint creases in the thick black card, and I realized something terrifying.
I was already addicted.
Addicted to the danger. Addicted to the pull. Addicted to Sid.
And deep down, I knew that no matter what I did—no matter how much I tried to ignore him—he wasn't going away.
He was waiting.
And I was going to have to face him.