Page 6 of Sexted By a Stranger
She hadn't replied again.
The next day, she didn't go on stage. This pleased me greatly. [Glad that you didn't perform tonight.]
[Who the hell r u? Why r u watching me?]
I tapped on the screen. [Stellina, does it really matter?]
[Don't call me that. I don't even know u.]
Stubborn. I liked it. [Oh, but I do know you, Sheila Stella.]
Waiting to see her lose it.
Sure enough.
[wtf? You investigated me?]
[Not really.] I typed leisurely, teasing her. [You gonna have dinner today? Or planning to go hungry back to your little apartment again? Your stomach will protest. That 24-hour store by your place—the sandwiches aren't bad. Better than gnawing on dry bread.]
[You're fucking watching me?]
[Just hoping you'll take care of yourself.] Deflecting, but the words were sincere enough. [ Can't work if you're starving, right?]
The phone went quiet.
The next day, Ragnar had just finished reporting about that shipment at the docks. I glanced out the window—rain was coming down hard. In a place like East Harlem, with weather like this.
I texted casually: [Don't get caught in the rain, la mia stellina. Don't get sick.]
Almost instantly, her message burst through: [ u nearby?]
[Do you want me to be?]
Chapter 3
Sheila
[Noooo.] I snapped back, irritated. This man was obviously surveilling me.
[Take care of yourself, Sheila. For those you want to protect.]
The phone screen's glow flickered in the darkness as I lay on my narrow bed, staring at that line: "For those you want to protect."
The anger at being controlled melted away, leaving behind something warm.
This stranger—whoever he was—had struck straight at the softest corner of my heart with surgical precision.
That night's earnings were enough to get Leon admitted to the hospital, but the ongoing treatment costs remained a bottomless pit, crushing the air from my lungs.
"Who the hell are you?" I whispered to myself, but my mind involuntarily conjured that tall, cold figure and his soul-piercing gaze from that party. Could it be him?
I turned off the screen and rolled over to stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore that inexplicable flutter in my chest. He calledme "stellina"—the nickname was like a drop of honey, sweet enough to drown in, but I feared it might be poisoned.
I'd never dated anyone. My life held only responsibility and survival. This man made me feel seen for the first time. Desired.
"Sheila, don't be stupid," I muttered to myself, forcing my eyes closed. He was probably just some rich regular at the club, playing his little hunting games. Tomorrow I'd still have to wait tables at the club. Life wouldn't change because of a few texts, and a waitress's wages could never cover Leon's medical bills.
But that man wouldn't leave my mind. The mysterious texter kept making me think of him.
