Page 30 of Scary Suitor

“Not helpful,” I mumble quietly, closing the app.

I slap his grabby hand from my thigh, scowling huffily as I tell him to focus on driving. His thick fingers sink into the squishy muscles, power pelting through his arm as the pain spreads on my skin.

I can’t remove it, so I choose to ignore him.

I consider the idea of throwing myself out the door, but New York traffic is a cesspool of wrathful drivers. They won’t hesitate to run me over.

I steady my breath and ask, “Where is the surprise?”

“Not far.” He smiles beautifully and runs a red light.

The distant gleam of green eyes warns me to not ask questions, not even a peep about his traffic violation. I gauge the landscape, playing a guessing game, but my answers are off base. We’re past the shopping district, too far out of the city for dinner, and way too deep inside a suburb.

The houses are worth millions.

Is he taking me tohishouse?

Before I can panic, his car drives through the gate and onto the long driveway. The home is familiar, and a second later, memories flood in.

Finny and I talked about this estate; it was a passing comment on the ridiculous price and gorgeous structure.

We listed what our dream rooms would look like using this house’s model.

Suspicion festers in my fingertips as they curl into my winter coat. Coincidences surround Cassio, and too much becomes intentional.

He has a unit next to mine at the apartment; he showed up at the business retreat, with people spontaneously getting stomachaches the day of the pool activity; then running into me at work, buying my favorite things, and now this home.

Finny calls me an overthinker, but she’s dead wrong.

He’s a stalker.

That’s right, I think despairingly,I have a stalker.

How could I forget something this important? There are distinctions between a stalker and a persistent admirer.

I’ve said it before; he has a dangerous charm with the ability to manipulate. I unknowingly fell into the trap he set up, and it’s useless to wreck my brain to know when I became the entwined fool on his cunning fingers.

Invisible threads lift me out of the car, my hand in his bigger one, and we walk into the grand front door. Warning bells are far in the back of my mind, and the beautiful exterior outshines the waving red flags.

This is my dying place.

“What do you think, pretty?” Cassio whispers, breath tethering quietly.

Nervousness is what I hear in his baritone, the velvety timbre lingering in the open air. I peer at him tentatively, reading the bright glow of green eyes and noting the gentle smile on his lips.

He’s shy; the rosiness on his cheeks is intense, the usual assertive gaze can’t meet mine, and his long legs shuffle impatiently.

“Come with me,” he says, taking my silence nicely. “There’s more.”

Since getting out of the car, he hasn’t let go of my hand. His thick fingers curl tightly between mine, and the strength in them makes me think he’s afraid of letting go. A hopeful gesture in case I voice my displeasure to this surprise.

I’m not inclined to see an actual dead body in one of the rooms. His surprises seem to include someone’s misfortune. There’s a good chance the Polaroid is faked, and the business retreat is an untimely accident.

The news hasn’t broadcasted a headless body, which puts me more at ease.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Cassio says, snapping my thoughts away.

I take in the master bedroom. His thumb rubs restlessly on my skin, soothing the tremors coursing through my bones, and the shivering worsens at the sight.

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