Page 7 of Stuck with the Billionaire Celebrity

They’re only mind games so far. He’s not done anything to me physically. Just ignore him, and he’ll go away.

I block the number again, but as soon as he realizes it, he texts me from another new number.

“I saw you running in the park today. You looked lonely and sad. Don’t worry, I’ll always be there.”

I didn’t see anyone in the park, and my stomach twists at the thought that he was there, and I missed him.

He’s always there, somewhere, watching. I can’t escape him.

The fear, the helplessness, and the frustration they all start to hit me at once, and I can feel the panic causing my chest to tighten and my breathing starts to get ragged.

I’m trapped in this nightmare, and no one believes me. Not the police, not security, not anyone.

He’s not threatening you.

It’s harmless.

Be glad you have an admirer; it means you made it.

He’s just got a little crush on you. I wouldn’t worry about it, too much. It’s not like he’s showing up and talking to you.

Those are the responses I’ve gotten from the police when I’ve asked for help.

I can’t file a restraining order because I don’t know who he is or where he lives. So, they can’t even serve it. It’s like he’s a ghost sent here to torture me.

How many times can I ask for help before someone finally listens?

He could attack me at any moment, and no one would even notice. I push past the guard, my heart racing, trying to get to the other end of the carpet where the press can’t see me fall apart.

As I move, my eyes keep darting around, searching for him, knowing he could be anywhere. Watching.

The moment I’m off the red carpet and out of sight of the cameras, I pull out my phone and text Devon, my manager.

“He’s here. I saw him, but he disappeared again.”

It only takes a few seconds before he responds.

“Stay calm. I’m coming. Where are you?”

I don’t even know how to answer. I feel like I’m trapped in a maze, and no matter where I turn, I can’t escape him.

“By the end of the red carpet. I’m going into the bathroom right up front to calm down.”

“I’ll meet you outside of it. I’ll text you when I’m there.”

I duck into the nearest bathroom, and luckily, it’s empty. I press my back against the cold wall, trying to regulate my breathing.

I can’t let him win. I can’t let him see that he’s breaking me.

My phone buzzes again, and I flinch. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see another message from him. But I do because some part of me has to know what he’s going to say next.

“Nice dress, Grace. You wore it for me, didn’t you? It’s a shame to hide it in the bathroom.”

I nearly drop the phone. He’s close. Too close. He’s here, watching me right now.

I shiver. My vision blurs and the walls seem to close around me. The door to the bathroom opens, and I almost scream as panic grips me.

This is it. He’s here for me.

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