Chapter 3
Shannen
“So let me get this straight,” Lianna says, leaning forward to set her now-empty wine glass on the coffee table before tucking her feet beneath her on the couch.
“You tried to fuck him over, and instead he flipped the whole damn game, admitted to a bunch of stalker-level shit, and then busted all over you like it was his fuck-you right back?”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
“Damn, that’s hot.”
“No, it’s not.”
“No, it fucking is, and you know it. If you wanted someone to tell you to run for the hills and not go after that psycho’s virginity like you’re about to tear it out with your teeth, you wouldn’t have come to me.
You know I’m the friend who’d sooner hand you a condom and a bat than tell you not to go suck the crazy out of that obsessive fucker. ”
“He’s dangerous.”
Lianna waves me off like Phoenix casually murdering my parents would be a mild inconvenience.
God, I wish I cared more about that.
“He’s clearly not a danger to you.”
“He’s been watching me for years.”
“Yeah. Still hot.”
“Lianna, come on…”
“Fine, fine—fuck me,” she mutters, grabbing the white band from her wrist and pulling her long black hair into a high ponytail.
“Okay, yes, he’s done bad things. Yes, you should probably call the cops and give them the full psycho rundown.
Yes, he’s clearly fucked in the head to have spent ten years obsessing over you like some feral little basement goblin.
I acknowledge all of that.” She pins me with a look.
“His kind of devotion is some burn-the-whole-world-down, rip-out-your-throat-for-smiling-at-someone-else level crazy. And yeah, living it is a hell of a lot different than just talking about it.”
I open my mouth, but she steamrolls on. “And look, I know he had something to do with your parents’ deaths, so don’t give me that face.
I’m not ignoring that. But after everything you’ve told me about your childhood, I’d have helped him dig the graves.
I also wish I’d been the one to snap that Ava bitch’s spine like a glow stick.
Honestly, I’d sleep like a fucking baby because I love you, and I’d do anything for you, just like that deranged lunatic you’ve got panting after you. ”
“Didn’t save me your virginity, though, did you? Now that’s real loyalty.”
“Okay, so my devotion is slightly broken because I go full dick-brained the second a hot guy breathes near me.” Her lips twitch, and I already know what’s coming. “I take it Phoenix is…”
“So fucking hot I could cry.”
“Oh, you’re so screwed.”
“No,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “I’m going to be smart.”
“How the hell are you not foaming at the mouth to ride him into the afterlife? He’s a whole-ass virgin for you.”
I drag my hands down my face. “You’re seriously the worst. I’m trying to be sane here, and you’re over there mentally planning my bachelorette party.”
“Would he let you have one?”
I drop my hands and spread my fingers into V’s over my eyes, just to glare through them. “Probably not.”
“Okay, real talk. If you want him gone, act like he’s gone.
Don’t talk to him, don’t look at him, and don’t think about him.
Starve the obsession. Don’t feed the fucking fire.
That’s the only way to kill it. And yeah, if I see him, I’m swinging.
But we both know whatever you feel for him is messier than you’re willing to admit. ”
“This goes way beyond messy. And I’m sure he stole my sketchbook. I don’t know how or when, but I know that asshole has it.”
“You never found it?”
“No. I called the airline. I called every place I stopped and every person I so much as made eye contact with. Nothing. And considering he’s somehow gotten into my apartment and my fucking head without breaking a sweat, I’d put money on him having it.”
“That pisses me off because you haven’t even let me look inside that damn thing.”
“He’s the last person I want in there. Ugh, I can’t do this. I need to move.”
“No, you don’t. But hey, you only live once. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like he’s gonna throw anything worse at you than what he already has. And look, you’re here with me, not at the police station, so what does that tell you?”
I’ve been thinking about Lianna’s question since she asked it, and I did everything I could to not answer her because there isn’t a response that makes me sound sane.
What do you do when you know you should turn him in, when you know damn well he deserves it, but you can't stomach the idea of being the one to lock him away?
How do you hold both truths that he’s a criminal and that you want to protect him anyway?
How can I be furious with him for breaking into my apartment, for following me, for inserting himself into every corner of my existence, and not be screaming? Not be tearing down doors and demanding someone stop him?
He’s technically a murderer. Definitely has aggravated assault charges stacked up if anyone bothered to look. There’s blood on his hands, real blood, not metaphorical. And yet here I am, pissed off because he’s seen parts of me I never gave him.
Fuck, I’m a mess. Screwed up in the head. But in the darkest corner of my heart, there’s this sick part of me that doesn’t want him to stop.
I almost stayed at Lianna’s tonight. It would’ve been the sensible thing to do, the safe thing. But I’m not hiding. That’s a slippery slope I refuse to entertain because once you start running, you don’t stop, and I won’t run from Phoenix. Not again.
I’ll take Lianna’s advice. Not because I think it’ll fix anything, but because I won’t keep handing him pieces of myself like he’s entitled to them.
I won’t engage.
I won’t react.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he still gets under my skin.
No more playing into the push and pull we both obviously know how to weaponize.
I’m done feeding this thing between us.
You know what they say about a ghost in your house? Don’t acknowledge it. Don’t speak to it or let it know you can feel it because it feeds off your energy.
Yeah, this is like that.
Except Phoenix isn’t a ghost.
He’s real.
Beautiful.
Distracting as hell in the flesh.
And impossible to fucking ignore.
I make my way up to the penthouse, and I’m so close to stopping on Phoenix’s floor, just to see for myself what I was too blind to notice all these years, but I don’t. I go straight up, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep this day away.
Peace. That’s all I want—just a few hours of it.
But peace doesn’t come easy when he lives rent-free in my head. Even my dreams betray me—his hands around my throat, his mouth at my ear, his voice whispering the filthiest things that leave me throbbing when I wake. My subconscious is a whore for him, and I hate it.
I know he’s here the second I walk through my front door, before I even see him, because I’m hit with the scent that’s been haunting me since I walked out of that hotel room.
I throw my keys on the entry table, slip off my shoes, and slowly make my way toward the dining room.
It’s the only light on in the entire apartment, a warm glow spilling into the hallway.
As I get closer, I realize it’s not the overhead light at all.
It’s candles. Dozens of them are scattered across every surface—the table, the sideboard, the windowsill—their flames dancing and casting shadows that make the whole room feel intimate.
One place setting sits directly across from where Phoenix is waiting at the dining table. He’s lounging in a chair, like this is completely normal, and he didn’t just break into my apartment to orchestrate this entire scene.
There’s one white plate with a neatly folded cloth napkin pulled from the set I’ve never even unwrapped. It still had the packaging on it last I checked. The silverware is laid out beside it, catching and reflecting the candlelight that dances across the room.
It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once, romantic even if you ignore the minor detail that he broke in to create it.
It’s exactly the kind of thing that should have me reaching for my phone to call the police. Instead, I’m just standing here, staring, trying to remember how to breathe, and all of Lianna’s advice has immediately flown out the fucking window.
Don’t engage.
Don’t feed the fire.
Too late.
Because the second his silver gaze finds mine, I’m already burning.
His tattooed hands rest against his mouth, elbows propped on the table like he’s been waiting for me all night.
“Considering you’re here, I take it you can’t read?” He says nothing, just tilts his head, like it amuses him. “Of course you can read,” I add, taking another step closer even though I should be backing away. “You’ve been invading my privacy by reading my letters for years.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can’t still be pissed about that. Surely that’s at the bottom of the forgive-me pile.”
“Forgive you?” I almost laugh. “You’re not sorry.”
He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re right. I’m not… not for that part, anyway.”
“Jesus, Phoenix, why are you so intent on being somewhere you’re not wanted? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
Make him hate you.
“Pretty sure we established I don’t do humiliation. You lost that leverage when you asked me to wrap my hand around your throat while I got myself off.”
He stands, all height and power, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes now that I’m barefoot on the heated floor.
“Sit down.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my tone easily matching the look of shock on my face.
“Sit. Down.”
When I don’t, he sighs, rolls his eyes like I’m the one being unreasonable, and walks away. A second later, a soft ding breaks the silence from the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s carrying a plate and sets it down on the table, as if this is just another night in for us.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?”
“No,” I hiss, gesturing around the room, “this. What the fuck is this?”