Rita POV
I didn't sleep well. The vial, the note, the phone call—it replayed in my mind like a broken record. Every shadow in the apartment seemed to stretch toward me, threatening to consume the fragile peace I had begun to taste.
Mark left early, promising he'd return, but the quiet left me with nothing but my thoughts. I tried to distract myself with chores, cooking, even tidying his kitchen, but the fear lingered in every corner.
The doorbell rang again. My stomach twisted. Not the courier this time. Hesitant, I peered through the peephole.
A delivery bag? No. A man stood there—neutral clothes, unreadable expression. A stranger.
I froze. My first instinct was to run, but my legs refused to move. The door clicked, and the man spoke.
"Rita?"
My name, and something familiar in the tone.
"Yes?" My voice was weak.
He held up a photo. A photo of me, from years ago, taken in the hospital waiting room. Panic surged.
"Who… how did you get this?" I demanded, backing away.
"Someone wants to make sure you understand—they're watching. Don't let your guard down."
My hands shook, and I dropped the photo. My chest felt tight, the old allergy panic threatening to take hold. But I forced myself to breathe. Not again. Not now.
Mark's words from earlier echoed: "You won't face it alone."
I shoved the photo into my pocket, trembling. Whoever this was, I would not give them control. I would survive. I had survived.
Hours later, Mark returned. His expression changed the moment he saw me holding the photo.
"They found you," I said flatly. "Someone's tracking me again."
His jaw tightened. "I should've stayed," he muttered, scanning the apartment as if expecting someone to appear from the shadows.
"I'm fine," I said, refusing to let panic show.
"You're never fine alone," he countered. His voice had that sharp edge that always made me stop in my tracks.
I flinched, angry at how much I depended on him already. "I survived before, Mark. I can survive again."
He exhaled slowly, but didn't argue. Instead, he pulled me into a hug—not forceful, but steady, grounding.
"I'll protect you," he said quietly. "Even if it kills me."
I wanted to retreat, to push him away—but I couldn't. Not entirely. Not now.
Later, Mariana called. Her voice was calm, but underneath it was urgency I couldn't ignore.
"Mark, you need to come in tomorrow," she said. "There's something you need to decide… for the company, and for yourself."
I listened silently, noting the tightness in his shoulders, the tension that didn't ease even in front of me. His life was pulling him in a different direction, and I had no place in that world.
But I couldn't stop caring.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Charles' threats. The photo. The thought that someone I had tried to escape was still there. I felt anger, fear, and an odd mix of something I wasn't ready to name.
Mark entered quietly, noticing my sleeplessness.
"You're awake," he whispered.
"I couldn't sleep," I admitted.
He sat beside me, careful to give space, but close enough to notice every small shiver, every tremor in my fingers. "You're safe here," he said. "And we'll figure out the rest."
I wanted to believe him, but I couldn't stop the knot in my stomach. The world outside this apartment was dangerous, unpredictable. And somehow, I knew this was only the beginning.