Page 135 of American Beauty

“He came to my office two days ago and said he wanted to talk. He was...so intense. I told him to leave multiple times, which he didn’t like at all. He kept inching closer, and that made me feel threatened, so I picked up a glass bottle and broke the bottom off to use as a weapon if he came at me. He left after that.”

“Jesus, Magnolia.”

“He sent me flowers yesterday with an apology. And today, there was a blacked-out car parked across the street from my office. I’m not certain it was him, but it seemed off. So I filed a police report and got a restraining order.”

His jaw tics, rage simmering. “This isn’t something you casually tell me about two days after it happens.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to stress you out. You’re still recovering, and I had hoped it would stop after I threatened to slice him open.”

He mutters a string of obscenities beneath his breath. “I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed off about this whole situation––that he can get near you and I’m not there to keep him away.”

I love that Alex wants to protect me, but I’m not helpless. “I’ve been protecting myself since I was a little girl. I’m very good at it.”

“Don’t care. Pack a bag. I’m chartering a plane for you tonight. You’re coming to Dallas.”

I love the lengths he’s willing to go for me. It’s overwhelming sometimes—this fierce, unapologetic way he shows up. “I can’t. I have a site walk-through on Friday. Violet’s staying with me—we’re doing a sleepover with wine. I’ll be okay.”

His eyes are hard. Unyielding. “I’m not comfortable with this. Not when he’s showing up where you work. Not when we don’t know what he’s capable of.”

I shift the phone, curling tighter into myself. “If anything else happens, I’ll come. I promise.”

He stares at me for a long beat, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “I need you to take this seriously now. Not after something happens.”

“I can’t drop everything and leave when I have a business to manage. My client is depending on me.”

His voice softens. “I don’t like this. Not one fucking bit.”

“I know, but I can’t allow him to control my life.”

“If anything else happens, you promise me you’ll come to Dallas.”

“I promise.”

“Send me your location when you go somewhere, even if it’s just to the grocery store.”

I nod. “I will.”

“Promise me, Magnolia.”

“I promise.”

And that’s one promise I’ll keep. Because I’m afraid of Tyson now. Not in the abstract. Not in the maybe. In the real, bone-deep way that changes how you move through the world. That makes you look over your shoulder twice.

I didn’t gointo the office today. I told myself I could be more productive from home. But the truth? I couldn’t stomach the idea of unlocking that front door and spending all day wondering if I was being watched. Wondering if that car would show up again across the street.

So I stayed home. Locked every door. Double-checked every window. Made a second pot of coffee I didn’t drink.

I’ve been camped at the kitchen table for hours—laptop open, fingers hovering, pretending to work. But I’m not seeing the screen.

I keep glancing at the front door, flinching at every sound—every creak, every voice in the hallway, every buzz of a neighbor’s phone vibrating through these paper-thin walls.

To say I’m on edge doesn’t even come close.

Violet offered to bring lunch and keep me company—and I didn’t say no.

A knock sounds––sharp and urgent—and I almost jump out of my skin.

“Be right there, Vi,” I say, already pushing away from the table, assuming she’s juggling too many takeout bags to use her key. But when I open the door, it’s not Violet.

---