Scarlett
Iopen the bathroom door slowly, like the hallway might bite.
The house feels different now.
Like the walls are listening.
Like the shadows remember.
Noah is sitting up in bed, one hand braced on the mattress, eyes still heavy with sleep but sharpened with suspicion.
It hits me how vulnerable he looks right then—shirtless, hair mussed, covers tangled around his waist.
Human.
Soft.
Unaware.
Unaware of the man who stood beside him last night.
Unaware of the danger soaking into the floorboards.
Unaware of the letters pressed into a hiding place less than ten feet away.
He blinks at me slowly. “Scarlett? You were gone a while.”
My heartbeat jumps.
I pull the bathroom door shut behind me, careful, quiet, like sealing in a secret I can’t let leak into the room.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I say.
Noah frowns. “Nightmares?”
My throat tightens.
He asks the question like he knows the patterns—like he’s studied the nights I wake up gasping for air, like he’s memorised the moments my body betrays me.
But he doesn’t know why.
He never has.
I climb back into bed, skin still cold from the tiles, movements stiff and deliberate.
Noah reaches for me immediately—hand sliding onto my hip,
pulling me in, warm and heavy and present.
I flinch.
So small a movement I pray he doesn’t feel it.
But he does.
His fingers pause.
His voice goes low. Careful.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything.
Everything is wrong and I can’t say why.
“It’s just… residual panic,” I whisper. “It’ll pass.”
“Panic from what?” he presses.
He studies me in the dim light—eyes narrowed, jaw tight, breath measured like he’s trying not to scare me.
His hand rubs my side in slow, grounding circles that don’t ground me at all.
I force a breath. “It was just a bad dream.”
He exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “You scared me when you left the bed like that.”
Noah scared is worse than Noah angry.
Noah scared means he’ll be watching harder.
Looking closer.
Listening for cracks.
I shift onto my back, staring at the ceiling—white, clean, border lined with recessed lighting that hums faintly.
This house is supposed to be safe.
It feels like a glass box.
Noah turns toward me, resting on his elbow. “Do you want me to hold you?”
The instinctive answer—the honest one—is no.
Noah’s touch right now feels like a cage when my skin is already too tight.
But the version I say aloud is:
“…yes.”
He pulls me against his chest, one arm circling my waist, warm breath brushing my hairline.
His heart beats steady.
Predictable.
Human.
And I lie there stiff in his arms, feeling everything except comfort.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
My gaze drifts toward the bathroom door.
The cupboard.
The hidden letters that feel like they’re vibrating through the walls.
My chest pinches.
Kai’s handwriting is burned into my skull.
His words embedded in my veins.
His presence still clinging to my skin like a second layer.
I swallow hard, throat aching.
Noah exhales. “You’re shaking.”
I freeze. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
His grip tightens.
His voice drops lower.
“You haven’t been fine in weeks.”
He’s right.
But not for the reasons he thinks.
I force myself closer to him, lying through my teeth. “Just tired.”
His chin dips to my shoulder, breath warm on my neck. “Do you want me to check the house?”
The panic hits so fast it’s dizzying.
“No,” I say too quickly. “No—please. Just stay here.”
If he checks—if he sees something off—if he notices anything changed—The world will cave in.
Noah’s brows knit in confusion but he nods slowly. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
He presses a soft kiss to the back of my shoulder—gentle, reassuring, meant to soothe.
It doesn’t.
It feels like pressure against a bruise.
I close my eyes.
But all I see is the bathroom mirror.
The letters in my hand.
The old ink.
The new threat.
Kai’s words curling like smoke through my mind—
You felt me.
You always fucking did.
Noah’s breathing evens out behind me, warmth settling over my spine like a blanket.
I lie awake in his arms, eyes open, staring into the dark.
Listening.
Waiting.
Breaking.
Because for the first time since the trial—I’m not scared of what Kai might do.
I’m scared of what I might do if he comes back.
Noah’s breathing evens out behind me—slow, steady, oblivious.
I lie stiff in his arms, staring at the ceiling, feeling the fear still coiled tight in my ribs.
But something else is stirring under it.
Something hotter.
Sharper.
Older.
Anger.
Not the frantic kind that flares and dies.
The quiet, cold kind that sharpens thought instead of drowning it.
The kind I buried the day I lied in court.
I blink hard, pushing back the tears threatening to rise again.
I’m done crying.
Fear made me weak tonight.
Fear made me small.
But fear isn’t the only thing Kai wakes in me.
I ease Noah’s arm off my waist inch by inch until he’s no longer holding me, only curled behind me, breath warm against my back.
He doesn’t stir.
I sit up silently.
The room shifts with me, all muted shadows and soft lamplight, the kind Noah thinks makes this place “calming.”
It doesn’t calm me.
It suffocates me.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit there for a long moment, letting my breath steady, my hands harden into fists.
“Fuck this,” I whisper.
The curse tastes like freedom.
I’ve been terrified for four years.
Terrified of Kai.
Terrified of myself.
Terrified of what I did to him—and what he might do back.
But the letters didn’t just remind me of guilt.
They reminded me of the truth.
Tyler.
What happened.
Why I stood in that courtroom and lied through my teeth.
Why I deserved every ounce of Kai’s rage.
My chest tightens—but not with fear this time.
With fury.
At myself.
At fate.
At the past.
At Noah’s blind confidence.
At Kai’s goddamn handwriting carved into my bones.
At the fact he was in this room and I didn’t wake up.
Every thought that used to make me shake now makes me clench my jaw.
“He thinks he can break into my house,” I whisper, eyes narrowing. “Slip letters under my nose. Crawl back into my head like I’m still some scared little girl who can’t handle the dark?”
My nails dig crescents into my palm.
“Fuck that.”
I stand up—slow, deliberate—moving to the bathroom door. I place my palm flat against the cool wood.
It’s still warm from my panic.
But beneath that warmth is something else.
Resolve.
“I’m not running again,” I murmur under my breath. “Not from him. Not from anything.”
Noah shifts behind me on the bed, muttering something incoherent. I glance back at him, jaw tightening.
He looks peaceful.
Safe.
Like nothing in the world can touch him.
And for the first time, that pisses me off.
“You really have no idea, do you?” I whisper. “You sleep like nothing could ever happen. Like danger doesn’t slip through locks and stand over people while they dream.”
I feel the heat rise behind my ribs—
not fear.
Not guilt.
Fire.
That’s what Kai’s letters did.
That’s what waking up gasping did.
That’s what hearing his almost-voice in the dark did.
They lit me up.
And I’m not extinguishing that flame again.
I step back into the doorway, stare into the dark corners of the room as if he might still be watching from them.
“Fine,” I whisper.
Voice steady.
Hard.
Cold.
“You want me awake?”
My pulse throbs.
“You want me angry?”
My breath tightens.
“You want me thinking about you?”
I tilt my chin.
“Congratulations, Kai.”
A razor-sharp whisper leaves my lips:
“You fucking succeeded.”
The anger settles deep.
Rooted.
Growing.
He came into my house.
But that doesn’t make me prey.
It makes this a war.
The sun isn’t even up when I decide I’m done being scared.
I slide out of bed, grab the nearest hoodie from the chair, and leave Noah snoring softly behind me—peaceful, innocent, blind.
The house is dim, all soft shadows and curated silence.
It feels like it’s holding its breath.
So am I.
But not with fear this time.
With rage.
I storm down the staircase barefoot, each step a sharp slap against polished oak. The anger buzzing in my blood is electric, pulsing, tearing open everything I’ve tried to keep sealed shut.
I stride into the kitchen, flick the light on—and freeze.
There’s something on the counter.
Something small.
Folded.
Placed dead centre like a trophy.
Another fucking note.
No envelope.
No seal.
Just a square of white paper resting exactly where I’d see it.
My pulse rockets.
Fucking hell.
I snatch it up with shaking fingers, flip it open, and the words hit me like a fist:
You’re awake now.
Good.
I like you better angry.
—K
A sound tears out of my throat—not fear, not shock, but pure, blistering rage.
“Oh, fuck you.”
It echoes off marble.
He was here again.
He broke in again.
While Noah slept.
While I was upstairs trying to hold myself together.
While I was tucking letters behind towels like a coward.
He was HERE.
In THIS room.
My hands shake so violently the note trembles in my grip.
“You want angry?” I hiss through my teeth. “You want me lit the fuck up?” I crumble the note in my fist. “You’ve fucking got it.”
I’m moving before my mind even catches up.
I grab the back door handle, wrench it open, and the cold early-morning air slams into me like a slap. Dew slicks the grass. The sky is bruised blue, the horizon bleeding light—but not enough to soften anything.
I walk.
Fast. Hard. Barefoot.
The gravel bites into my feet but I barely feel it.
Behind the house lies a strip of woodland—a curated patch of “nature” Noah insisted on because a forest view “raises property value.”
Tonight it feels feral.
Untamed.
Exactly where I want to be.
I step into the trees, branches clawing at my arms, cold air ripping through my lungs. My breath fogs in front of me, furious, sharp.
I don’t slow.
I walk deeper.
And deeper.
Until the house is gone behind the tree line and all I hear is my own pulse and the wind pushing through the branches like whispers.
Then—I stop.
My fists clench at my sides.
“COME OUT!”
The scream rips out of me so loud birds scatter from branches.
My voice echoes between the trees.
I drag in another breath—the kind that tears.
“COME OUT, YOU FUCKING COWARD!”
Nothing.
Only the rustle of leaves.
The hiss of winter wind.
The hum of a world that pretends nothing is wrong.
I step forward like I’m ready to fight the shadows.
“You want to watch me?” My voice breaks, louder, hotter. “You want to stalk me? Break into my bedroom? Leave your fucking riddles?”
I spin in a slow circle, scanning the tree line, chest heaving.
“Then SHOW YOURSELF!”
Silence.
Not empty—charged.
Like the forest is holding a secret.
Like the trees know he’s near.
Like the world itself is listening.
I take another step.
“You’re always right there, aren’t you?” I spit the words like venom. “Right behind me. Right in the dark. Right in my fucking head!”
Tears burn my eyes—not fear this time, not sadness.
Fury.
“I’m DONE being scared of you!” My voice cracks on the last word.“You want me angry? Congratulations!”
I swipe the tears off my cheeks aggressively.
“You think you can walk into my house,” I snarl, “and I’ll just curl up and tremble like I used to? You think I’m still that girl?”
My breath steams in the cold.
“I’m not.”
I take one more step toward the deeper woods.
“You hear me?”
A whisper sharpened into a blade.
“I’m not fucking yours to haunt.”
A twig snaps somewhere to my left.
I spin instantly.
Heart hammering.
Breath caught.
Body locked.
But the space between the trees is empty.
No shadow.
No movement.
No figure.
Just quiet.
Mocking quiet.
My chest heaves—the adrenaline spike mixing with fury until I feel poisoned by it.
“Oh, that’s how you want to play it.” I laugh—short, sharp, unhinged. “You’re here. I fucking know you’re here.” My voice drops to a whisper that shakes. “But you won’t face me.”
Another snap.
Behind me.
I whirl around—
Nothing.
Cold air.
Branches.
Shadows.
No Kai.
But he’s here.
I feel it like static up my spine.
“You’re a fucking coward,” I breathe, fists trembling. “A ghost with teeth. A shadow that hides behind trees because you know if you came out—” My voice breaks again, rage and something darker colliding in my chest. “—I’d tell you everything I didn’t say four years ago.”
Silence.
He doesn’t step out.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t move.
And the fact he doesn’t almost hurts worse.
I inhale shakily, every nerve in my body pulled tight.
“You want a war?” My voice is barely human. “You fucking got one.”
I turn and walk back toward the house, pulse hammering, fury burning through my blood, shoulders braced like I’m expecting the forest to reach out and grab me.
But it doesn’t.
I make it back to the edge of the yard.
I make it to the lawn.
I make it to the back door.
Only when I step inside do I let myself whisper it—quiet, breathless, furious: “Come out next time.”