Chapter Three
I opened the front door and stopped short, startled by the sight before me. A dozen roses lay on the wooden porch, their velvet-red petals vivid against the worn planks. The deep crimson mocked me—a reminder of the fire that still smoldered beneath my skin.
I bent down, fingertips grazing the delicate blooms as I breathed in their rich aroma, stunned.
Are these from Ryan?
A wave of guilt pressed into me as I stood there, uncertain. My gaze flicked to the quiet street—two people walking, someone getting in their car. Nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet…
I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
My stomach twisted as I reached into the bouquet, fingers trembling. Where’s Ryan’s note?
I dug deeper, the thorns pricking my skin, sharp and sudden. A sting, then warmth, as a bead of blood welled on my fingertip.
Ouch.
I pressed down hard, trying to stop it from seeping down my hand.
Where is it, dammit? These are from Ryan. They have to be.
I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to stay calm, to hold back tears. Why did it matter so much?
I stood motionless on the porch, my pulse uneven, a slow, creeping deja vu rolling over me like a wave.
I was back in high school. Sophomore year. Standing at my locker, I spun the dial, the lock clicking open, and pulled the metal door wide. My breath caught. A folded sheet of school-lined paper lay inside, my name—Scarlett—scrawled across the front in messy cursive.
A boy’s handwriting.
My pulse fluttered as I reached for it, fingers trembling with anticipation. Who could this possibly be from? I unfolded it quickly, ready to devour every word. Maybe he’d compare my face to a delicate flower, like the poetry we read in English class. Maybe he’d tell me I was beautiful. Special. Wanted.
But as my eyes scanned the first few lines, my stomach dropped.
This wasn’t a love note.
It was something else. A threat. A promise.
Dear Scarlett,
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day.
When I caught you watching me.
You liked what you saw, didn’t you?
So do I.
Very, very much. I like the way your hair falls in your face, how you wipe it away quickly. The way you apply your lip balm at your locker when you think no one is looking.
Those lips would look so beautiful wrapped around me.
I’m always there, always watching you.
My eyes widened, shock locking me in place. The things he said—so explicit, so vulgar. I barely had time to process it before a hand slipped over my shoulder. I stiffened.
Adrian.
But no. It was Preston.
Another senior on the football team.
“What you looking at, Scarlett?” He leaned in, his prying eyes falling to the note in my hands.
I crumpled it instantly, fingers tightening around the paper, my face burning.
“Nothing,” I murmured, eyes dropping to my feet, willing him to go away.
He’d never spoken to me before, but now he was dangling his arm over me like we were old friends, his body pressing in way too close. How did he even know my name?
“You got a boyfriend?” he drawled, eyeing me up and down, slow and hungry.
I swallowed hard. He was too close. Too overwhelming.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want one,” I added, quieter.
Preston rolled his eyes. “That’s just ’cause you haven’t gotten to know me yet.”
His hand slid down my back, fingers brushing the bare skin where my jeans dipped low.
I flinched, shifting away—but his grip held firm.
“Relax,” he hissed, voice low and edged with irritation. “What are you so uptight about?”
And then—a force I couldn’t see slammed him into the lockers.
The sound cracked like gunshot, metal rattling under the sudden violence.
A black leather-clad arm pinned him in place.
“Leave her the fuck alone.”
The voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
A full head taller than me. Adrian.
His steely eyes burned, brows furrowed, teeth clenched.
Preston’s bravado faltered. His eyes darted around, clearly embarrassed as a small crowd started to gather.
“What the fuck, man?” he spat. “Do you know how fast I could get you kicked off the football team?”
For the briefest moment, Adrian’s grip tightened, but something flickered behind his eyes.
Pain.
It was gone in an instant, replaced with cold fury.
Preston smirked, shaking out his shoulders.
“You’re banking on that football scholarship, aren’t you?” His voice dripped with mockery. “It’s the only way your sorry ass is getting into college.”
Adrian’s glare darkened, his fingers twitching at his sides, like he was debating. But after a long, charged moment, he released him with a sharp shake, his voice razor-edged.
“Stay the fuck away from Scarlett.” His tone was low, dangerous. “She’s mine.”
Mine.
The word hung in the air, heavy and final.
And then—they were both gone.
Leaving me standing there, heart pounding, my body shaking, the crumpled note still balled up in my fist.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head.
No. I’m not back there.
I’m standing on my porch, holding these flowers.
From Ryan.
The wonderful man I’m seeing.
I’m not a scared little girl anymore.
The card must have gotten lost. That’s all.
I turned on my heel, ready to bring the bouquet inside. To push the moment away.
But then—
My breath caught.
Sticking out from under the welcome mat, a note.
And I knew this handwriting.