Page 11 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

“I want to kill you.”

“Why?” I ask, tears running down my face.

I think I know why.

I’m yanked forward, and he twists my body so that my back is against his, and I’m now facing the other two masked men. He grips me hard against him as he holds a knife to my neck, the blade pressed into my skin enough to draw a little blood.

“Your body and soul belong to me, Eden Rivers. Talk to anyone, and I will kill you. Talk to your friends, and I will kill you. Call the cops, and I will kill you. One step out of place, and I will come for you.”

I shake with uncontrollable fear.

“Do you understand?”

I nod as best I can. He presses the knife further into my skin.

“Yes,” I say with a loud whimper.

“Good. Now go back into the pantry and pretend none of this happened.”

I do as I’m told and watch them through the security feed, inside this so-called safe room, depart the area, but they linger on at the front screen.

One of them drops something on the kitchen counter.

It’s my passport.

My stalker invaded my home with his two accomplices, and they still remain out there waiting for me in the shadows.

I can’t do this anymore.

A screaming voice in my head is telling me to run.

Chapter 2

Ten years later

Southgate, London

The clatter of metal chairs shuffling across the tiled floor and the clinking of cutlery against porcelain punctuates the air as I step back inside the café after signing off on the delivery of beverages.

I follow the symphony of sounds that stirs the café to life as the morning light begins to spill through the windows. The rhythmic hum of espresso machines signals the brewing of the day's first cups, harmonizing with the distant clatter of kitchen utensils and the low murmur of chefs discussing the day's specials. The subtle rustle of crisp white tablecloths being unfurled resonates alongside the occasional hiss of a steam wand as it dances with frothy milk.

Soon, the place will fill with the morning rush of punters coming off the tube and eager to start their morning with a fresh cup of coffee in their hand as they walk into work.

I walk down the corridor to the management office to drop off the invoice and find my sister already sitting behind the desk we both share.

Her belly grows by the day, she’s ready to burst at the seams, and I’m prepared to become an uncle for the second time.

“Alright?” I ask, dropping the invoice on the pile of paperwork I aim to file later this morning.

“This came for you yesterday afternoon,” she holds out a white envelope. “It arrived by courier. We were so swamped last night that it completely slipped my mind to give it to you.”

Unless it’s bills, I rarely get mail delivered directly for me, and the courier service signifies precisely what this is. Every now and then, I’ll receive a royalty check, although as the years pass, the time between checks becomes much longer, and fewer noughts at the end of the numbers.

I look at the sender and know what it is and what it’s for.

“Are you going to open it?” Abby looks up at me with eager steel-blue eyes, the same color I have.

“I don’t need reminding of my past,” I say with a bittersweet aftertaste lingering on my tongue. The memories could have been better.

---