Chapter 20 #2
My suspicions had stirred then, but between the chaos of going back home abruptly and the implosion that followed left me no emotional bandwidth to dwell on it. I told myself I must’ve mentioned it in passing and forgotten. That he was just…perceptive.
However, with that memory pressing against the others, a realization surfaces—Ashby. I never told him the address of my family home. Yet, somehow, he showed up at the front door without missing a beat.
The thought slips into my mind, uninvited—could he have hacked my phone?
The suspicion strikes fast and cold. It feels extreme, but I can’t ignore the possibility. There’s a pattern here, one I’ve refused to see.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to steady the rush of anxiety pooling in my chest. I need air. Space. Actual space.
Confronting Nathaniel isn’t an option—not now. His presence unravels me, and I know the moment his aquamarine eyes meet mine, any resolve I have will slip through my fingers like water. I can’t think clearly when he’s close. I have to leave before he returns.
My mind works quickly, trying to thread together a plan. I’ve bought myself a little time by sending him to The Nook, but if I want to go, I have to leave now.
I stand abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the floor cutting through the silence as I lift the necklace from the counter. My legs feel unsteady as I cross the penthouse, moving toward the bedroom we now share.
Inside, everything feels too pristine, too carefully arranged—his touch is everywhere, from the way he folds the blankets to the small vase of peonies he placed on the dresser, because he knows they’re my favorite. It all suddenly feels suffocating.
I move to my nightstand and set the necklace down with a quiet clink. The diamond catches the soft morning light, and I hesitate. Letting it go feels strange, almost symbolic—like cutting a cord I’m not sure I’m ready to sever.
I exhale and step back, brushing my fingers over the chain one last time before pulling away. Turning to my phone, I hold down the power button until the screen fades to black.
If he’s tracking me through this, it ends here.
I pack quickly—just an overnight bag with a few essentials, casual clothes. Nothing that will suggest I’m going far or for long. The goal is to slip away unnoticed, not to leave a trail.
By the time I step past the door and into the hall, I barely glance back. The air outside feels thinner, but I keep walking. Nathaniel’s return looms at the edges of my mind, but for the first time in weeks, I allow the distance to grow between us.
My heart is finally able to settle once I check into a hotel. The sterile white sheets and steady hum of the air conditioner feel unfamiliar, but that’s the point.
The place smells faintly of cheap detergent, and a piece of generic watercolor art hangs crookedly over the bed—a far cry from the hyper-curated calm of Nathaniel’s apartment.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring out at the Boston skyline through the narrow window.
The city stretches far and wide below, indifferent to the weight pressing against my chest. Somewhere out there, Nathaniel is looking for me.
The thought sits heavy in my stomach, curling like smoke that refuses to dissipate.
The walk downtown was disorienting. Every step felt like I was wading through water, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I kept looking over my shoulder, half expecting to see Nathaniel’s tall frame emerge from the crowd, but no one followed.
Boston was big enough to disappear into, but the paranoia lingers like a shadow.
I drag in a breath and sink further into the bed, letting my bag slide to the floor with a dull thud. The room is safe, clean, but far from extravagant. A place to breathe—without Nathaniel’s presence closing in around me.
And yet…
The isolation twists things in my mind. I wanted space, but now that I have it, I can’t stop imagining him.
The silence only amplifies the ache. I picture the moment he came home, his gaze sweeping the penthouse—expecting me to be there, waiting.
I can almost see him, standing in the doorway of the empty bedroom, staring down at the necklace I left behind.
He would know instantly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead as if that could block out the image.
I hate how easily I can picture the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of panic he’d try to bury beneath control.
Nathaniel isn’t the kind of man to fall apart publicly, but behind closed doors?
I don’t doubt he’d tear the whole city apart to find me.
Part of me almost wishes I’d left a message—something to explain, to ease the storm that will be brewing in his chest right now. But I know better. If I’d texted, he would have tracked me down before I took two steps out the door. He wouldn’t have let me out of his sight once he caught me.
And that’s exactly why I can’t reach out now.
Still, the weight of it clings to me. I hate hurting him. I hate imagining the frantic way he must be searching, how the seconds without me will chip away at his carefully constructed calm.
I could go back tonight. Just to reassure him.
I shift forward, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress as the idea begins to take shape. But even as I consider it, something else rises inside me, something more resolute.
I need this space to decide what comes next without him looming over me.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Nathaniel will just have to bear it a while longer.
And so will I.
The next day, as I stand at the hotel room door, duffle in hand, I know I’m not going back to Nathaniel’s penthouse. Not yet.
There’s one last thing I need to know.
Instead of heading uptown, I call a cab to Halford.
I walk the familiar paths of campus with purpose till I reach the dormitory building. I take the stairs up to my floor but find myself hesitating once I reach the entrance of my old room.
Taking a deep breath, I slip my hand into my coat pocket, pulling out my wallet. Tucked in one of the folds, behind a few old receipts, is the slim access card for my dorm room. I slide it free, tracing the worn edges with my thumb.
I kept it, much to Nathaniel’s chagrin. He insisted that I move into the penthouse completely, urging me to let go of the room on multiple occasions, calling it unnecessary.
But I held onto it anyway, brushing off his requests with vague excuses about needing the space for convenience or familiarity.
The lock releases with a quiet click, and as I step inside, the stale air and silence greet me like strangers. The room still belongs to me, but standing here now, it feels distant—like it was never really mine to begin with.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone. That same prickling sense of being watched creeps over me, even in the stillness. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for something—anything—that explains it.
And then I see it.
Near the ceiling, just above the sprinkler system, is a faint square opening. My heart thuds painfully.
Last semester. The sprinkler inspection.
It had never happened before, not in my entire time at Halford. And not to the other girls on my floor—just me. I remember how they explained it as routine maintenance, though I didn’t question it at the time. The men had looked professional enough.
But now, as I stare at the opening, doubt whispers through me.
I scan the room, pulse skittering. The vents. The smoke detector. Even the tiny gap above the wardrobe. Each one looks normal, but the normalcy feels staged—too neat, too ordinary.
A prickle crawls up the back of my neck.
I drag my desk chair beneath the sprinkler and climb up, balancing carefully as I reach toward the ceiling tile. My hands tremble as I press my fingers along the edge, checking for anything out of place.
Nothing. And then—
My fingertips brushing against something cold and smooth.
I swallow hard.
A camera.
Small. Discreet. But unmistakably there.
I yank my hand back as if it had burned me.
How many more are there?
I don’t want to know.
The truth is already glaring. Nathaniel has been watching me long before I moved in with him. The realization lodges in my throat, suffocating.
I need to get out.
I don’t know where I’m going—my feet just carry me forward, out of the dorm room, down the hall. I shove through the main doors, and as I descend the stairs, the air hits me like ice.
And then I see him.
Nathaniel stands just outside the building, hands tucked into his coat pockets, as if he’s been waiting there this whole time.
I freeze on the steps.
He meets my gaze calmly, but the restraint in his posture is thin, like a rope about to snap. His eyes are stormy, a churning undercurrent just below the surface.
“What were you doing up there, baby?”
His voice is soft, almost tender, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.
I can’t breathe.
I search his face for something—remorse, guilt, anything—but Nathaniel steps forward, pulling his hands free from his pockets.
His hands, usually steady, tremble as he reaches for me.
I flinch before I can stop myself.
Nathaniel freezes, pain lancing his expression as if I had struck him. But after a beat, he continues forward, closing the space between us. His knuckles brush softly along my jawline, reverent and careful, as if I might shatter beneath his touch.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispers, though the desperation in his voice betrays him.
I don’t speak.
His hand lingers a moment longer before sliding away, fingers curling against his palm. He leans closer, his breath warm against my temple.
“Let’s go home.”