Chapter 30
THIRTY
HARLOW
Gazing at my phone, I chew on the inside of my cheek, my nerves frayed from the bombardment of messages I’ve received from my stalker over the last few days. There are so many that my eyes fill with tears, and my body trembles with anxiety.
Why do you insist on ignoring me, my sweet songbird? I’m contemplating clipping your wings so that you don’t have a chance to fly away.
Though, I rather think you enjoy the chase. Are you behaving this way because you only wish to sing for me? I think perhaps it must be that.
I think about all the ways I’d take you when you’re finally mine. I really hope you fight me. The thought of you pinned beneath me, my cock in your tight cunt whilst you scream for help turns me on.
Does that turn you on?
Soon, my sweet songbird. Soon…
Bile rises up my throat as I throw my phone across the room. It lands on the chaise positioned beneath the window, before dropping to the floor with a thud.
“Sick bastard,” I exclaim, swiping at my cheeks as I try and fail to steady my nerves.
I haven’t left the hotel since Robert and my mother returned to Princetown this morning, and in all honesty I wished I’d gone with them. My insistence on accompanying them both home was met with Robert’s abject refusal, and in the end I’d agreed if only to stop him and my mother from arguing over whether I should take some time off or not.
Despite everything that’s going on with me, I don’t want to be the cause of any upset between them. So here I am, utterly terrified, staring at the messages and wishing I’d just told them both what’s been going on. But I’m a grown woman, and I should be able to handle this myself. I realise now that I should’ve reported this to the police a long time ago. Today I’m going to do exactly that.
With that decision made, I push up from the bed and head into the bathroom with the intention of splashing my face with cold water, but a knock at the door has my steps faltering.
“Shit,” I mutter, forgetting that I’d ordered room service.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I let out a steadying breath, hoping the member of hotel staff won't question why I look so disheveled.
“One moment, please," I call out, unlocking the door and pulling it open, only to find Sterling standing there.
“Harlow…”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, a mix of shock and relief flooding through me. I hadn’t realised how much I needed him until now.
He takes one glance at my face, and without hesitation, reaches for me, his hands gently cupping my cheeks. "You’ve been crying," he murmurs, his voice laced with concern.
“Sterling…” My voice cracks as I waiver on my feet.
“Fuck, Harlow, what’s wrong?"
“I–” I begin, but he steps into my space, walking me backwards until my back hits the wall and the door slams behind him.
“Tell me why you’ve been crying,” he insists, concern scattering across his handsome face as I try to fight back a sob. “Is it your mother? Has she said something to upset you? Was it my dad, did that fucker do something to upset you?”
I shake my head, my hands flying up to press against his chest as I try to form words, but it’s no use, his concern has a damn opening up inside of me and I just throw myself at him, seeking comfort from the only person who has ever made me feel wanted.
Sterling doesn’t question me further, he simply pulls me into his arms and holds me whilst I break. All the fear I’ve been holding onto leaks from my eyes in scalding tears, and I sob into his chest. I’m trembling so hard that my knees buckle.
“Hold onto me,” Sterling says, as he swoops down and lifts me off my feet, my body held horizontally across his chest. In a few strides he has me settled on the bed, my back pressed against the headboard. “Stay there, I’m going to get you a drink of water.”
I simply nod, watching him as he strides across the room to the bar where miniature bottles of alcohol and soft drinks are kept chilled in a fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, he twists off the cap, then returns, offering it to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching for it with trembling fingers. I take a sip as he sits down on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully. When I’ve had enough, he takes the bottle from me and rests it on the floating shelf next to the bed.
“Harlow, can you tell me what’s going on?” he asks, his grip on my hands gentle but firm as his thumbs trace soothing circles across my skin.
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “It’s… I…” My voice cracks, but he doesn’t rush me—he just waits, his concern palpable. “I have a stalker…”
“What?” His voice is a low, dangerous growl now, and I feel his fingers tighten around mine. Whatever he expected to hear, this clearly wasn’t it.
“Someone’s been sending me messages. They’re… Oh God, Sterling, I’m scared,” I manage to choke out, tears streaming down my face.
“Messages? What kind of messages?”
“Disturbing ones,” I rasp out.
“For how long?” His question is short, sharp, his voice laced with a barely contained fury. I force myself to meet his gaze, knowing his anger isn’t directed at me, but at the person terrorising me.
“Months.”
“ Months ?! Harlow…” His voice trembles with a mix of anger and concern, his jaw clenched, as if the idea of someone hurting me is more than he can bear.
“At first I just thought it was some random person on the internet, and I ignored them, hoping they’d grow bored. But the messages have become more frequent, more sexual, more threatening and I didn’t know what to do. ”
“Sexual? Threatening? I’m going to fucking kill them,” he seethes. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know for certain,” I explain, forcing myself to speak through my tears, a sudden well of shame gathering inside my chest. “They’re coming through on an old Instagram account I used to post to.”
Sterling cups my cheek, ducking his head so that our eyes meet, a fierce expression in his eyes. “Tell me everything, from the beginning Harlow. Help me to understand so that I can deal with this bastard.”
And so I tell him.
I tell him about my Instagram account. I tell him about the fact I haven’t used it in years, and then how I received the first message months ago. I explain that in the beginning they seemed harmless, but over time that the messages have gotten steadily more intrusive.
“There was a point that I thought maybe you were the one sending me the messages,” I admit in a whisper, guilt climbing up my throat.
“Never. I’d never do anything to hurt you, Harlow,” he exclaims, rearing back as though I’ve slapped him.
“I know that. I know. I’m sorry for even thinking it,” I quickly say, more tears pooling in my eyes.
“Why did you think it was me?” he asks.
“Initially, I thought you’d come across my account somehow, and after I left the way I did that night we first met, I thought perhaps you were trying to hurt me…”
“Harlow, shit. No…” His voice trails off, but I catch something in his eyes that gives me pause.
“What?”
“I did find your account,” he admits carefully, as though he’s afraid that I might react badly. “And I did send you a message, but nothing like this. I swear to you.”
“You messaged me?” I whisper.
“Yes. Once. You never responded. Then you were singing at our parents' wedding and, well, there was no need for me to message you there anymore.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I guess it didn’t matter at that point.”
“I wish you’d told me, it might’ve saved me from still thinking you were my stalker even after I’d moved in.”
He frowns. “Do you really think so little of me?”
“Please let me explain,” I say, feeling awful.
He nods. “Okay.”
“Do you remember that time in the kitchen when I asked to see your phone?” I ask.
“I remember.”
“I’d received some messages that morning, and you happened to be approaching the kitchen. You were on your phone at exactly the same moment…”
“ That’s why you asked to see my phone?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“But you don’t think it’s me now?”
“No, no I don’t,” I confirm, reaching for him. My palm slides across his cheek as I lift up onto my knees and shift closer to him on the bed. “I trust you. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t.”
“Fuck, Harlow. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I thought I was handling it. But the messages have gotten worse, and I think…”
“What? What is it?”
“I think I might know who it is, but I can’t be certain,” I add, as his eyes flare dangerously.
“Who?” he demands.
“At Dalton and Daisy's wedding reception Councillor Hoxton said something that made me think it could be him.”
“Councillor Hoxton?” Sterling questions, his expression hardening. “What exactly did he say?”
“He mentioned that the song he walked down the aisle to was Songbird,” I explain.
“Yes, I remember, why would that make you think it’s him who’s been sending you these messages?”
I chew on my lip, knowing that it’s dangerous to accuse someone with no actual proof. “It could’ve been a coincidence, and if he didn’t make me feel so uncomfortable I wouldn’t even have considered it a possibility.”
“Why did him mentioning that song trigger you, Harlow?” he presses.
“Let me show you,” I say, climbing off the bed so I can grab my phone. Picking it up, I return to Sterling, clicking open the app and going to the messages. I scroll through them, finding the one where he calls me his sweet songbird.
“That motherfucker!” Sterling exclaims, taking the phone from me as he reads that particular message, before scrolling back to the beginning. I wait quietly, watching his expression change as he reads. By the time he’s finished, his gaze is simmering with rage.
“Sterling, what should I do?”
“You’re not going to do a damn thing. I’m, however, going to confront the bastard,” he growls.
“I have no proof, Sterling. I don’t want you accusing someone when it might not be them.”
“I will not sit back and let him send you these twisted messages. I will not let him threaten you?—”
“I’ll go to the police,” I interject.
“No.”
“What?”
“I said, no, Harlow. All they’ll do is give you a crime number, then file this away. At best they’ll get his account shut down. That won’t resolve the fact that he’s out there just waiting to hurt you. Not to mention that even if you were lucky enough to get a restraining order on him, which is highly unlikely given we don’t have any proof that it’s him, he’d still be able to hurt you. That bastard has friends in high places.”
“Including your father,” I whisper.
“Yes, including him,” Sterling retorts, scowling. “Does my father know about this? Does your mother?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I haven’t told anyone but you.”
“Good, because telling either of them isn’t an option. I don’t trust my father not to use this against us both somehow, and I sure as fuck don’t think your mother would help. I will sort this out. Me .”
“I don’t want you to put yourself in a difficult position, Sterling. If you accuse Councillor Hoxton and he’s not the one sending these messages, he’ll just tell Robert. Not only will that create more problems with your father, but it will also raise questions about us.”
“I can’t sit back and do nothing, Harlow. I won’t,” he replies, dropping the phone to the bed and tugging me onto his lap. I go to him willingly, needing him more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life. “It’s already too fucking hard not to be able to call you mine officially, and now I have to contend with someone threatening the woman I love. No, I won’t do it.”
“ Love ?” I whisper.
“Yes. I love you, Harlow,” he says emphatically, as my heart trips up inside my chest. “Even if I still have to hide how I feel from everyone else– for now ,” he adds vehemently, “I refuse to hide that from you. I love you. I need you to know that. I’m not expecting you to say it back?—”
“Sterling,” I cut him off but he continues to speak.
“I just want you to know that I’m in love with you. I’m so fucking in love with you that I’m ready to shout it to the world and fuck the consequences. Not only that, I’m ready to batter down that prick’s door, reach my fist down is throat and rip his dick out of his body from the inside out for even daring to scare you?—”
“Sterling, listen to me,” I demand, adjusting myself on his lap so that I’m straddling his thighs with my own. “Firstly, you’re not going to do anything rash. We’ll figure out how to handle this together. Secondly, and most importantly, I’m in love with you too.”
“What?” Sterling asks, his eyes widening a fraction at my confession.
“I love you.”
He grins, his anger momentarily forgotten. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
He presses his kiss against my lips briefly, before pulling back. “Again, louder this time.”
“I love you!” I laugh, all my fears slipping away as he gently lays me back on the bed, his body poised over mine, the silver streaks in his blue eyes sparkling.
“Stay right there, Harlow,” he says, before pushing upright and pulling out his phone from his pocket. “I just need to make a quick call.”
“A call?”
“Room service,” he says by way of explanation as he heads towards the bathroom.
“I’ve already called for food,” I say.
“It’s not that kind of room service,” he replies rather cryptically, and when I frown he just grins. “Trust me okay?”
“I do trust you.”
“Good. I’ll just be a moment.”
“What on earth?” I whisper, and despite feeling a little shaky still, I can’t help but smile to myself. Things don’t seem as scary now that Sterling knows the truth, and somehow, the weight that had been pressing on my chest is a hell of a lot lighter knowing that Sterling is in love with me, and that I’m hopelessly in love with him too.