Page 70 of Sexted By a Stranger
A path that would keep her safe without dragging more people into the abyss.
I had to start taking action.
That evening, I stopped outside Sheila's office door, took a deep breath, and pressed down the drumming heartbeat in my chest. I raised my hand and knocked gently on the door.
Three soft sounds echoed clearly in the quiet hallway.
The door opened a crack, revealing half of Sheila's face. She looked at me calmly, with a hint of inquiry but more of a distant wariness.
"Something you need, Mr. Bellomo?" Her voice sounded like she was addressing a not-quite-familiar neighbor.
"I brought you some food."
"Thank you." She took the items, about to close the door.
"Don't work too hard. Your health is important." I said through the door. "If you need any materials, I can help you find the best ones."
Silence from inside for a few seconds, then came her soft sigh. "I understand."
She seemed more easily tired than before—maybe the work was particularly draining.
I stayed outside her office door, listening to the scratching sound of pen on paper. She was completely absorbed in her creative work. I didn't want to disturb her, but I didn't want to leave either.
This kind of guardianship gave me peace of mind.
Sheila
The door closed behind me, and I didn't want to deal with Luca's emotionally complex expression.
Seeing him always reminded me of his cold words.
He didn't need a flesh-and-blood child cherished by loving parents. He needed only a tool who could one day take over his blood-soaked kingdom of violence. An heir born destined to walk the razor's edge, breathing gunpowder smoke.
The computer screen lit up, and a new email notification popped up.
Dear Sheila,
The New York Emerging Jewelry Designers Collective will be held next month, aimed at discovering and supporting truly talented fresh blood. The judging panel consists of industry veterans. I've attached the corresponding form. This is an unmissable stage—I look forward to seeing you shine.
Isabella Winston
This email came at such a perfect time, illuminating my heart that had been shrouded in despair and anger.
I filled out the form without hesitation. The moment I clicked "Send," strength flowed through my limbs.
In the following days, I buried myself completely in the office.
I traced lines over and over, carefully considering structural proportions. This total focus built a solid barrier, temporarily shutting out the turbulent emotions that man had stirred up.
I knew it was him. He was watching over me, like a silent shadow.
And not just him. Downstairs at the apartment building, I could always see several familiar cars parked not far away, and occasionally I'd run into Ragnar.
He would nod politely to me, then follow a few steps behind after I walked away.
On a weekend morning, I cleared my mind and wandered the garden path downstairs in my shawl. The building superintendent, Joseph, was trimming a cluster of bloomingroses. When I approached, he stopped his large shears and smiled kindly from his wrinkled face.
"Good morning, Miss Stella," he greeted me.
