Page 109 of The Painter and His Poet

Despite everything that’s going on with me, I don’t want to be the cause of any upset between them. So here I am, utterly terrified, staring at the messages and wishing I’d just told them both what’s been going on. But I’m a grown woman, and I should be able to handle this myself. I realise now that I should’ve reported this to the police a long time ago. Today I’m going to do exactly that.

With that decision made, I push up from the bed and head into the bathroom with the intention of splashing my face with cold water, but a knock at the door has my steps faltering.

“Shit,” I mutter, forgetting that I’d ordered room service.

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I let out a steadying breath, hoping the member of hotel staff won't question why I look so disheveled.

“One moment, please," I call out, unlocking the door and pulling it open, only to find Sterling standing there.

“Harlow…”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a mix of shock and relief flooding through me. I hadn’t realised how much I needed him until now.

He takes one glance at my face, and without hesitation, reaches for me, his hands gently cupping my cheeks. "You’ve been crying," he murmurs, his voice laced with concern.

“Sterling…” My voice cracks as I waiver on my feet.

“Fuck, Harlow, what’s wrong?"

“I–” I begin, but he steps into my space, walking me backwards until my back hits the wall and the door slams behind him.

“Tell me why you’ve been crying,” he insists, concern scattering across his handsome face as I try to fight back a sob. “Is it your mother? Has she said something to upset you? Was it my dad, did that fucker do something to upset you?”

I shake my head, my hands flying up to press against his chest as I try to form words, but it’s no use, his concern has a damn opening up inside of me and I just throw myself at him, seeking comfort from the only person who has ever made me feel wanted.

Sterling doesn’t question me further, he simply pulls me into his arms and holds me whilst I break. All the fear I’ve been holding onto leaks from my eyes in scalding tears, and I sob into his chest. I’m trembling so hard that my knees buckle.

“Hold onto me,” Sterling says, as he swoops down and lifts me off my feet, my body held horizontally across his chest. In a few strides he has me settled on the bed, my back pressed against the headboard. “Stay there, I’m going to get you a drink of water.”

I simply nod, watching him as he strides across the room to the bar where miniature bottles of alcohol and soft drinks are kept chilled in a fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, he twists off the cap, then returns, offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching for it with trembling fingers. I take a sip as he sits down on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully. When I’ve had enough, he takes the bottle from me and rests it on the floating shelf next to the bed.

“Harlow, can you tell me what’s going on?” he asks, his grip on my hands gentle but firm as his thumbs trace soothing circles across my skin.

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “It’s… I…” My voice cracks, but he doesn’t rush me—he just waits, his concern palpable. “I have a stalker…”

“What?” His voice is a low, dangerous growl now, and I feel his fingers tighten around mine. Whatever he expected to hear, this clearly wasn’t it.

“Someone’s been sending me messages. They’re… Oh God, Sterling, I’m scared,” I manage to choke out, tears streaming down my face.

“Messages? What kind of messages?”

“Disturbing ones,” I rasp out.

“For how long?” His question is short, sharp, his voice laced with a barely contained fury. I force myself to meet his gaze, knowing his anger isn’t directed at me, but at the person terrorising me.

“Months.”

“Months?! Harlow…” His voice trembles with a mix of anger and concern, his jaw clenched, as if the idea of someone hurting me is more than he can bear.

“At first I just thought it was some random person on the internet, and I ignored them, hoping they’d grow bored. But the messages have become more frequent, more sexual, morethreateningand I didn’t know what to do. ”

“Sexual? Threatening? I’m going to fucking kill them,” he seethes. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know for certain,” I explain, forcing myself to speak through my tears, a sudden well of shame gathering inside my chest. “They’re coming through on an old Instagram account I used to post to.”

Sterling cups my cheek, ducking his head so that our eyes meet, a fierce expression in his eyes. “Tell me everything, from the beginning Harlow. Help me to understand so that I can deal with this bastard.”

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