Page 16 of Perfect Stalker

Mom gasps. “Oh, no. Jenny, were you?—?”

“No, no,” I cut her off quickly. “I wasn’t fired. Actually...” I trail off, the words sticking in my throat.

“Actually what, sweetie?”

“I got promoted.”

“Promoted?” Mom’s voice rises with excitement. “That’s wonderful news. Why do you sound so...uncertain?”

I force a laugh, hating how fake it sounds. “Just overwhelmed, I guess. It’s a big change.”

“I’m sure it is, but you’ll do great, honey. You always do.”

Her faith in me makes my chest ache. “Thanks, Mom.”

“So, tell me about this new position. What will you be doing?”

I swallow hard. “It’s...a personal assistant role. Executive assistant to the owner of the company.”

“Wow. That’s quite a step up. I’m so proud of you.”

My voice breaks as I consider what’s happening at my company. I hope she’ll dismiss the cracking as a positive feeling of being overwhelmed. “Thanks.”

“When are you coming to visit? Your father and I miss you.”

Guilt twists in my stomach. “I miss you too. Things are pretty hectic right now with the new job, but I’ll come see you both as soon as things calm down.”

“All right, dear. Just don’t work too hard, okay?”

“I won’t, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie.”

I end the call, feeling worse than before. The lies of omission threaten to suffocate me.

A sudden noise breaks through my thoughts—the jarring sound of metal scraping against metal. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize it’s coming from my front door.

Someone’s trying to pick the lock.

A second later, the alarm starts to flash to alert me. I hurry over to shut it off before it can become audible, not wanting the burglar to know I have a security system in my apartment.

I creep toward the door, my pulse hammering erratically. Pressing my eye to the peephole, I freeze.

The fisheye lens reveals a distorted but unmistakable Stephen standing there. He’s wearing a delivery driver’s cap and a coverall for a local mailing company. That must be how he got up here. Probably some neighbor let him in. It’s not like we have a doorman or security here.

“Jenny, darling.” He practically purrs through the door, but there’s a menacing undercurrent to his words. “I can smell your cooking. You’re not much of a cook, but that smells delicious.”

I glance at the stove automatically, reassuring myself I turned off the burner. Then I shake my head, realizing how trivial that concern is right now. “Stephen,” I call out, hating how my voice shakes. “Go away. I’ll call the police if you don’t leave right now.”What is he doing here? He’s supposed to be in London. I guess he wasn’t lying when he said he was back.

A tense silence follows, but the scratching at my lock stops.

I fumble for my phone, ready to dial nine-one-one. My fingers shake when I try to unlock the screen.

Suddenly, the front door explodes inward, wood splintering as Stephen barrels through. He fills the doorway, eyes wild with rage and an unsettling hunger. A scream tears from my throat. I reach for the alarm panel, wishing I’d hit the “Call Police” button when I silenced it, but before I can grasp it, I’m distracted by a third presence.

Stephen is nowhere near me before a blur of motion streaks past. Ivan materializes between us, his stance predatory. Without hesitation, he launches at Stephen. The two men collide with brutal force.

I stumble backward, my heart thundering while I watch Ivan take Stephen down with terrifying efficiency. His movements are precise, calculated—the actions of a man who’s no stranger to violence. In mere seconds, Stephen lies crumpled on the floor, groaning in pain. I appreciate the rescue, but what is he doing here?

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