Nowhere to Run (Obsession #2)

Chapter One

I couldn’t shut my mind off.

Staring at the canvas I’d just poured my emotions onto I heaved, feeling like I’d just run a sprint. I was breathless. Raw. Aching from the inside out.

It was too much to bear.

A sob ripped from my chest as I collapsed onto the sunroom floor, hugging my knees. My whole body shook, memories crashing over me in relentless waves. I pressed my forehead to my arms, trying to block them out. Focus on something else.

The art show. Ryan. Emma.

Shit. Emma.

I wiped my tears, glancing at my phone, bracing myself for reality. Emma would be livid.

How had I fallen asleep in his arms?

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. With the man who had just taken so much from me.

The screen brightened, her messages and missed calls pouring in. Her most recent one, sent early this morning.

“Tell me you’re alive!? I haven’t called the police. Yet.”

I exhaled a shaky breath, a pang of relief budding in my chest.

“I’m okay. Really. I’m so, so sorry. I have to work today. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Promise. Coffee… 10:00 a.m.”

My heartbeat slowed, just knowing I’d be seeing her soon. But I had to get through today first. I didn’t have time to wallow.

I made my way upstairs, stepping into the shower, turning on the hot water and letting it cascade over me, washing away his lingering presence. I went through my routine in a haze—standing at the kitchen counter, downing a glass of orange juice, the cold liquid soothing my aching throat.

My gaze caught on the treehouse in the backyard—the one I used to play in for hours as a child. I stood there, transfixed, lost in the memory. Playing princesses with Emma until her parents and Gran pried us apart. Then later, sneaking back out alone.

That’s when I played my favorite game. Spy.

From my perch in the treehouse, I had the perfect vantage point into the neighbor’s yard. He was older than me, just a little, and I watched him shoot hoops, his black hair catching the late afternoon sun. Every time he turned toward Gran’s yard, I’d giggle and duck down, scribbling furiously in my journal like I was a secret agent on assignment. Rolling onto my back, kicking my feet, laughing to myself.

I imagined him coming to the fence, climbing over, dashing up the ladder and capturing me. And then… what? I never figured that part out. The fantasy always ended there, hanging in the air, waiting to be filled in.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I smiled, letting the warmth of the memory settle over me. But then last night rushed in, dark and suffocating, washing away any trace of innocence. His hands tangling in my hair. Pulling my head in close. Forcing me to take all of him. The heat in his stare as he held me there.

I gulped down the last of my drink, tearing my gaze from the treehouse.

I had to get to work.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Helping customers at the gallery, filling orders, answering questions with automatic nods. Pretending everything was normal.

But nothing was normal.

His words clung to me, seeping into my skin. Like oil paint–thick, staining, impossible to wash away. I stood at the gallery’s deep utility sink, water pooling in my cupped hands before slipping through my fingers. Scrubbing, letting the warmth sink in, willing it to cleanse me. But it didn’t.

Soap and water wouldn’t do. I needed something stronger to scrub him out, to burn him away.

His promise lingered in my mind. To take me again. To take everything.

My hands trembled as I rang up a sale, fingers clumsy on the register. The customer smiled and left. My eyes followed them to the door, to the street. And suddenly, I was alone.

The sun shone deceptively, teasing warmth it couldn’t give. Just another cold, winter day in late February. This season always felt endless, stretching on like a life sentence. I sighed, imagining myself living somewhere warmer—where the air smelled of salt and citrus, where winter never overstayed its welcome. But this was what I knew. What I’d always known.

Clouds drifted in, swallowing the light in an instant. Shadows stretched across the pavement, spilling into the gallery, dimming the space until it felt hollow. Still.

Like something unseen had slipped inside.

Like a ghost had entered.

I shuddered.

I kept seeing him in the glass. Imagining his face appearing at the window—the slight tilt of his head, watching me, amused, patient. That wicked grin. The sharp clench of his jaw. The slow, steady pulse at his throat.

His steely blue eyes locked on me. Waiting.

I blinked hard. He wasn’t there.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

I still felt him everywhere. His hands, his breath. The raw ache between my legs, the burning in my throat, the bruises he’d left behind.

I should be furious. I should have run straight to the police.

I hated him.

Hated him for what he’d done. For making me feel so scared.

For making me want him .

And I did. So badly.

The truth was, I could barely contain my desire. My skin still tingled where he had touched me. My pulse spiked at the memory of his voice, low and commanding, warning me that he wouldn’t stop.

That I was his.

I should be sickened. I was sickened.

And yet…

I let out a slow, deep breath, willing my nerves to settle.

Those rare moments of tenderness—few and fleeting as they were–played in my mind, haunting me. The way his lips had softened against mine when I least expected it. The way his gaze pinned me in place.

Like he saw every part of me.

Saw through every defence I had built.

And shattered them.

I swallowed hard, fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

Stop thinking about that. It wasn’t real. It was a mind trick.

He isn’t capable of tenderness.

This man had gone to prison. For nearly killing someone.

And he said… it was because of me.

What did that mean?

What kind of power did I have over him?

The gallery was quiet now, near closing. I sat on the stool at the register, crossing and uncrossing my legs. I burned, the desire radiating outward, creeping up from between my legs to my core. My hand hovered at the waistband of my pants before I caught myself.

Fuck.

It wasn’t just his rare vulnerability that had me unraveling.

It was his power. His control. The way he pushed me.

I was counting down the hours until I could go home, close my bedroom door and finally be alone.

My vibrator was waiting for me.

That sick, twisted part of me wanted to relive it—though my brain screamed at me to forget him. Somehow I’d managed before. Years ago, when the letters stopped. Hadn’t I? I stopped thinking about him every goddamn day. I buried the memories, pushed him out of my mind, forced myself to move on. I could do it again. I had to.

I couldn’t see him again.

Because next time… I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to walk away.

* * *

The next morning, I burst into the coffee shop, the bell chiming as I pushed the door open. The scent of freshly ground coffee wrapped around me, grounding me for a moment. The warmth of the shop felt like a sanctuary, instantly soothing me a little.

Across the room, Emma’s wide smile greeted me.

“Emma!” I hurried toward her.

She flipped her sandy blonde hair over her shoulder, her green eyes gleaming with questions.

“Got exactly what you like,” she said, sliding a latte across the table.

The rich aroma of oat milk and espresso curled into the air, warm and familiar. My lips twitched slightly—a small comfort I didn’t realize I needed. She cared. She knew me that well.

“Now, tell me–what the hell is going on? You willingly spent time alone with Adrian? Your ex-stalker?” Emma’s jaw was practically on the floor, her eyes wide with disbelief.

I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my trembling fingers. The warmth should have steadied me, but my pulse still thudded, my thoughts still tangled. After a long sip, I took a slow, deliberate breath.

“Well,” I started, my gaze flickering around the shop. The words felt impossible to say. After her warning. After I had cried to her in high school about how much he scared me, her arms wrapped tightly around me, her voice a steady force against my fear.

“I’ll never let him hurt you,” she had whispered. “You and me, we’re like sisters.”

I exhaled, gathering my nerve.

“I ran into Adrian at the gym. He was… pushy. I felt like I had no choice.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “No choice? Scarlett, I know he’s intimidating. Scary, even. And after everything—the bullying, those awful letters. But he can’t make you do anything.”

Adrian’s voice echoed in my head.

“I don’t take no for an answer. If I want something–I get it.”

I swallowed hard, pulse quickening.

I could have stayed home. But then what? Risked him coming to find me? Showing up at my door? Would he have?

I should have ignored him. Should have turned around and bolted for the changing rooms the second I saw him.

But I didn’t.

That lingering morbid curiosity…

I couldn’t tear myself away.

Couldn’t tear my eyes away from his body .

I’m the reason this happened.

Emma exhaled sharply, dragging her hands through her hair.

“Okay, I have a million questions, but first–why? Why did you go there? This is the guy who tormented you for an entire year. And didn’t even stop when he left for college. He sent you those letters for years.”

I sighed, knowing as well as she did how insane it sounded.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just… wanted closure. To see if I still haunted his mind after all these years.”

Her smirk dripped with disbelief.

“And? Is he still as obsessed with you as ever? What’s he like now? Now that he’s a hardened criminal and all.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, hungry for every detail.

My gaze drifted over the familiar pink walls of the shop, their sugary sweetness almost cloying. Such a stark contrast to the steely gray of Adrian’s condo—cold, hard, and commanding, just like him.

My breath hitched as I thought of the night I’d spent with him.

The way he took complete control. How he made me submit. Pushed me past every limit, demanding things I never would have given him in a million years. His voice was like a chain, binding me to him, coiling tighter with every command, forcing me to surrender.

I shuddered, heat rising to my cheeks. An aching pulse stirred low in my stomach as the memories surged, vivid and damning.

“Are you… blushing?”

Emma’s voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I pressed a cool hand to my face, desperate to compose myself.

“Sorry, I’m just… a little on edge right now,” I said, my voice cracking.

“He gave me a workout,” I joked, forcing a smirk. “He’s a personal trainer. He offered me a free session.”

Emma tilted her head, skepticism clear.

“Is that why you went? I know you’re a borderline gym bro, but seriously?” She laughed mildly, shaking her head.

“Not really,” I exhaled, toying with the emerald ring on my right hand. One of my gran’s. It was her favorite, given to her by her first boyfriend. Looking at it made me think of her, made me feel more secure. Calmer. I took another deep breath.

“He told me that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Emma’s hands clenched into fists on the table and I could practically feel the heat coming off her.

“What an absolute creep. Well, I hope it was a good ‘training session’”, she said, making air quotes. “He better not have tried anything more.”

My stomach tightened.

This was the moment I’d dreaded. But Emma was my best friend—the only person I trusted completely.

“He… he did,” I said quietly, my voice faltering. “He sort of forced himself on me.”

Emma’s gasp was instant, her hand flying to her mouth. For a moment, she just stared at me, eyes wide.

“Oh my God. Scarlett.” Her voice was low. Deadly.

“Are you okay?” She leaned in, concern etched into every line of her face.

I nodded stiffly, my throat tightening as tears pricked my eyes. But it wasn’t sadness. Not really. It was something darker. The words forced himself on me echoed in my mind, accompanied by a treacherous pulse of heat.

“We have to go to the police!”

Emma’s chair scraped against the floor as she leaned forward, her hand gripping mine. “They’ll lock him up again. Did you keep any of his letters? They’re proof that he’s been planning this for years!”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Emma froze. Her brows knitted together.

“Scarlett–I don’t understand,” she said, her voice softer now, careful.

I looked down at the barely touched latte in front of me. How could I explain? She deserved the truth, but the shame was suffocating.

“I kind of… liked it.”

The words hung between us, heavy, like a curse I’d just unleashed.

Emma’s face went blank, her lips parting in shock.

“What do you mean, you liked it?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But it was strained—like she was fighting something, some instinct to pull me back from a ledge I was about to step off.

“That’s not—” She exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. “That’s your brain rationalizing things. It’s okay. It’s normal to feel conflicted. But what he did—it was wrong.”

I sighed, feeling the truth of her words but unable to accept them fully.

Emma sat back, shaking her head slightly. Silence stretched between us, and then, finally, she let out a slow, controlled breath.

“Look, I don’t want to push you. But you don’t have to carry this alone. I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. No judgment.”

I nodded, my voice steadier than before. “I’m not going to report him. But I am done with him. He can’t just take what he wants from me.”

Emma’s hand squeezed mine, her touch warm and comforting. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll support you,” she said softly.

Her touch was soothing, but I couldn’t help the way my pulse quickened at the thought of Adrian’s grip, the way he’d made me feel both powerless and electrified at once.

Then my phone buzzed, slicing through the quiet moment.

A chill shot down my spine as I pulled it from my bag.

I knew , even before I looked at the screen, who it was.

‘Adrian, my personal trainer’ flashed across the screen, bold and inescapable.

Two unread messages.

One from yesterday morning—the day I’d stumbled home from his place. I hadn’t found the courage to open it yet. But with Emma sitting across from me, I felt safer.

And a new message. Sent just now.

My hand trembled as I opened them.

Yesterday, 8:54 a.m.

“Where did you go, naughty girl? I wasn’t done with you.”

The words hit me like a slap, sharp and humiliating. My stomach twisted as I took in the second message.

Just now, 10:12 a.m.

“Here’s your new workout routine. Three times a week. No excuses. I’ll know if you’re slacking. Don’t test me—I have big plans for you.”

A PDF was attached, but I didn’t dare open it. My breath came faster as the three three dots appeared.

He was typing.

I stared, pulse hammering, my fingers tightening around my phone as a third message flashed onto the screen.

Just now, 10:13 a.m.

“I know you’re ignoring me. Bad idea, Scarlett. You don’t want to see what happens when I’m angry.”

My stomach dropped.

My grip on my phone faltered as cold dread seeped into my chest. Hand shaking, I turned the phone to Emma, wordlessly showing her the messages.

Her eyes widened, her face draining of color. Then her expression hardened. Without hesitation, she snatched the phone from my hand.

“Emma, what are you—?”

Her fingers flew across the screen, typing with frantic determination.

“Leave me the fuck alone, loser. Don’t ever come near me again, or I’ll report you.”

I stared at the message, my pulse thrumming as her finger hovered over send. Her jaw was set, face determined as she waited for my approval.

“Emma?” I whispered, my voice pleading. “Are you sure? I think it might make things worse.”

My chest tightened, and my heart thrashed against my ribs like it wanted out.

But Emma’s voice was calm, certain. “You need to scare him. He’s an ex-convict. He doesn’t want to go back to prison. He’ll lay off when I send this.”

I took a deep breath, nodding.

Sent.

She handed my phone back and I held my breath as I glanced down.

Read.

But no dots appeared. He wasn’t typing. Maybe it worked.

I let out a long breath, relief washing over me like a tide receding.

“Maybe you’re right,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

Emma’s eyes narrowed, her tone certain.

“Trust me.”