13. Margot
13
MARGOT
I shouldn’t have called him. The second I hear Grayson’s voice, low, steady, sharp with something I can’t quite place, I regret it. Because this is Grayson. My rival. My competition. The last person I should be showing weakness to. But the moment the words leave my lips, there’s no taking them back.
"Grayson... I think I need your help." A beat of silence. Just long enough for my stomach to tighten, for second thoughts to claw at the edges of my brain. Then…
"Where are you?"
I exhale, my grip on my phone tightening. "My apartment."
"Are you hurt?"
I close my eyes. Not physically. "No."
Another beat of silence. Then, his voice drops lower, serious. "Did someone come to your place?"
A shiver runs through me.Not yet . "No. But I think someone might."
I hate how quiet I sound. How unlike myself. But the unease in my stomach won’t settle, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to be alone.
"Stay put. I’m on my way."
"Grayson…"
But he’s already hung up.
I drop my phone onto the coffee table and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The room is dimly lit, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside my window. It should feel like any other night, but it doesn’t. Because Liam found me. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake off the chill settling into my bones. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I should have just ignored the message, blocked the number, and gone on with my life like he never existed. But something about it feels different this time. And that scares me. I pace the room, glancing at the door every few seconds, counting down the minutes until Grayson arrives.
Every shadow outside my window feels like a threat. Every passing car makes my pulse jump. My mind is spinning, running through every worst-case scenario, and for once, I don’t have a strategy to fix this. Then, a knock at my door makes me jump. Too soon. Grayson couldn’t be here yet. My pulse pounds as I approach the door, every nerve in my body on high alert. I check the peephole, and let out a breath when I see Grayson’s familiar figure standing on the other side.
I undo the locks and yank the door open, and for the first time tonight, I feel something close to relief. He takes one look at me, barefoot, dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, arms crossed tightly over my chest and his expression shifts. The usual cocky smirk is gone. In its place? Something harder. Sharper. Something I don’t have the energy to decipher right now.
"Talk," he orders, stepping inside.
I hesitate, swallowing hard. "It’s nothing. I just…"
His eyes flash. "Try again."
I exhale slowly and move past him, wrapping my arms around myself as I sink onto the couch. "I got a message tonight. From someone I thought I was done with."
Grayson’s jaw tightens. "Liam?" His voice carries something dark, something personal. He knows the name. Of course, he does.
Liam wasn’t just some ex I casually mentioned in passing. Grayson had been there, on the periphery, watching from a distance back when Liam and I were still together. He saw the cracks before I did, the way Liam tried to dictate my choices, the way he always made it seem like he was just looking out for me. I remember Grayson’s offhanded comments back then, the ones I brushed off as typical King arrogance.
“You sure about that guy, Evans? Seems like he likes the idea of you more than the real you.” I’d rolled my eyes, called him jealous, accused him of just wanting to throw me off my game. But deep down, maybe some part of me had known Grayson was right.
I nod, my throat dry. "Yeah."
Silence stretches between us. Then, he steps closer, his presence solid and unshakable. "What did he say?"
I reach for my phone and pull up the text, hesitating only a second before handing it to him. He reads it, his expression darkening with every word: Miss me, Margot? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
Grayson exhales sharply, his grip on my phone tightening. "When’s the last time you talked to him?"
"Almost a year ago. I blocked his number. Changed mine. He shouldn’t be able to find me."
Grayson looks up, something lethal burning behind his eyes. "Then how did he?"
A chill runs through me. "I don’t know."
His jaw flexes, his knuckles white as he grips my phone. "Has he shown up anywhere?"
"Not yet. But... I have a feeling he will."
Grayson doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, he hands my phone back and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I’m staying."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He shrugs like it’s obvious. "If this guy is lurking around, I’m not leaving you alone."
I scoff, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches at the idea of him staying. "That’s unnecessary."
He steps closer, his voice dropping. "Is it? Because you just called me in the middle of the night, sounding like you’ve never been more unsure of anything in your life. So let’s cut the bullshit, Evans. You don’t want to be alone tonight. And I’m not going anywhere."
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but the words don’t come. Because the truth is? He’s right.
And that scares me more than anything.
Twenty minutes later, we’re moving around my apartment, both pretending this isn’t weird. That this isn’t completely uncharted territory. I grab a spare blanket from the linen closet, tossing it onto the couch. "You can sleep here." Grayson raises an eyebrow as he toes off his shoes.
"How generous of you.”
"Don’t push it, King. I could have made you sleep in the hallway."
He smirks but doesn’t argue, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. I try not to look, but my eyes betray me, trailing over the way his muscles shift as he stretches. I quickly turn away, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. I head toward my bedroom, pausing in the doorway. "Don’t touch anything. Don’t go through my stuff. And if you snore, I’m kicking you out."
He chuckles, dropping onto the couch. "Noted. Now go to bed, Evans, you need sleep."
I hesitate, my fingers gripping the doorframe. I should say goodnight. I should walk away. But instead, I linger.
"You really think he’ll come here?" My voice is softer than I mean it to be. Grayson’s expression darkens. "I don’t know. But if he does, he won’t get near you." Something about the certainty in his voice makes my breath catch. My stomach tightens, and I force myself to nod, stepping inside my room before I do something really stupid. Like thank him. Or worse, trust him. I close the door, leaning against it for a second, my pulse still uneven. Through the quiet, I hear the rustle of Grayson settling in on the couch. A few minutes pass, and then, his voice carries through the door.
"Goodnight, Evans."
I hesitate before whispering, "Goodnight, King." And for the first time tonight, I feel a little less alone.