UNKNOWN: Sneaking off with random men, little mouse? If I catch his hands anywhere near you, they’ll end up in your mailbox by morning.
My heart stills in my chest. This is the first time he has actually communicated with me outside of an ominous note.
My eyes snap up towards the balcony. No one can see us from here. We’re too far back from the railing. But yet, someone is clearly watching me.
But how?
And how the hell did he get my number? Scratch that, that was a stupid question. He’s a fucking stalker, for god’s sake. Of course, he has my number.
Arch walks over and hands me a drink, a smile on his face. He thinks he’s getting laid tonight.
Normally, he might have. But it looks like I might have to save his life instead and get the hell away from him.
An hour passes, and I grow more nervous as each minute ticks by. I haven’t received another text, but it’s sitting there, weighing down the back of my brain. I fear my brain stem will snap from the tension.
Arch’s hands definitely touch me. One currently rests on my thigh, dangerously close to my center. I stare down at the star tattooed on his thumb, my mind conjuring images of holding it—without his body attached.
Yet, I let it happen, even though I shouldn’t. And because I shouldn’t, I can’t stop staring at them, imagining them chopped off at the wrist and bloody. Sitting in my mailbox.
I don’t even have a mailbox.
My house is too far back from the road, so my mail is just left on my front step.
Shouldn’t a stalker know that?
What a shitty little shadow.
“You having fun?” Arch asks, nudging me with his shoulders. I nod absently as I continue to abuse my lip trapped beneath my teeth.
I should run. I should tell this man to get his hand off of me if only it means it’ll never be severed from his body and left in my nonexistent mailbox.
“You’re tense,” Arch observes quietly. I clear my throat and open my mouth, but another buzz from my back pocket interrupts me.
I can feel the color leech from my face. Arch’s brows dip with concern, and it reminds me of the poor man that I nearly gave a heart attack by the cliff’s edge.
He glances down towards the sound. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice only seeming to quieten further.
I’m growing tired of the concerned looks, but yet, they feel like lifelines. Like there’s people out there that will notice my strange behavior and speak out if something ever happens to me.
A news reporter will interview Arch, and he’ll speak of how I seemed spooked by a text message. The construction worker who built my porch—his story will be broadcasted and talked about for weeks. A girl standing at the edge of a cliff, seeming to contemplate jumping and then nearly falling off.
It all connects to the fact that I had a stalker. And the police brushed it off when I made my reports of random roses. But it won’t change anything for the next girl that’s being stalked.
It never does.
In the end, I’ll be another statistic but will fade away as just that. A beautiful girl stalked by an unhinged man. And no one bothered to help her until it was too late.
“I’m fine,” I force out through a stilted smile. It feels wooden and disingenuous, but it does the trick nonetheless. His face relaxes, and the concern bleeds away.
Or rather, Arch is just letting it go because he doesn’t actually care.
“Do you want to leave?” he murmurs, his voice now full of promise and intent. His bottom lip disappears between his white teeth, the act in itself primal.
The word no is on the tip of my tongue, like a little ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if I say no to this man, I’ll spend the rest of my night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.
Hating myself for letting a freak control my life and rob me of a good time with a delicious man.
He’s beautiful, with a shade of darkness surrounding him that’s as enticing and mouth-watering as chocolate cake. There’s a promise that I would be ending the night with him entirely satisfied.
And what if it evolves into more? What if I’m saying no to something beautiful? Those are a little girl’s hopes and dreams, but I can’t help thinking them anyways.
He looks like a man that I could settle down with but dangerous enough to keep me excited.
“Yes,” I say quietly—finally. “But after I know Daya gets home safely.”
Arch smiles slowly. Salaciously. “I can see to that.”
Chapter 8
The Manipulator
D
aya takes Luke home while I take Arch back to the manor. He asked me to go to his, but I felt much safer at my own home. More in control.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t take him to a house that sits on a cliff, surrounded by woods and several miles out from civilization. Worst of all, with a stalker that lingers around and likes to break in.
God, this was stupid.
My house isn’t safer by any means, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to his place. I don’t like being in unfamiliar places with strangers. Like I could be walking into a house that I’ll never come back out of. It makes me feel far more vulnerable, though I’m in the most vulnerable position I could possibly be in right now.
“You have a beautiful home,” Arch compliments, his eyes sweeping over the entirety of the living room and kitchen. I updated the wallpaper to a more modern black paisley, got rid of the tragic gold curtains, replaced them with red ones, and updated the couches to red leather.
But his eyes keep drifting back to the black wooden steps as if he knows they lead to my bedroom.
Except I have different plans.
“That’s not the best part,” I tease, grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to my favorite room in Parsons Manor.
The sunroom.
I don’t go back here very often. It’s where Nana and I spent most of our time together. It hurts to come in here when the room is still thick with her presence.
Breathing in deep, I open the double doors and step inside.
This room is a glass box. The ceiling, the walls, everywhere around us is one big window. It’s also the best spot to be in. It overlooks the cliff edge, the waters glittering beneath the moonlight.
But the most notable part is directly above us. The stars are breathtaking to look at. Out here, we have no light pollution. The night sky is lit up with orbs of diamonds, glinting and shining against the black backdrop.
Arch’s head slowly turns as he takes in the sight before him. And then he cranes his head back, staring up at the sky with his mouth hanging open.
I imagine it’s one of the few moments where this man has looked unattractive. But to me, it’s the most attractive he’s been this entire night.
He’s not concerned with controlling his face and movements, nor is he practiced and following a script. He’s just a man in awe of the beauty surrounding him.
“Damn,” he mutters finally, his voice deep with wonder. He turns his head back to me, the edges of his eyes round with delight.
The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion I can’t put my finger on. It isn’t until that mask slides back over his face that I realize he looked sad. Melancholic.
And I want to know why, but with the way his eyes are heating like a burner on the stove, I know the opportunity has already passed.