Page 174 of Their Arrangement
The camera feed shifts to grayscale. I see her outline in the stairwell—tiny, alone, carrying too many bags. She doesn’t lift her head. Doesn’t check the corners. She forgets she’s prey. But I don’t.
Midnight. The hallway outside her apartment is still. No motion. No sound. Just her door. Closed. Unmarked. But behind it?
The drawer.
The ring.
I send the first message at 12:03 a.m.
You left the ring in the drawer.
I saw it.
I don’t need her to read it now.
She’ll see it when she wakes. She’ll feel it when she brushesher fingers over the silk chain and thinks about me slipping it over her head.
12:07.
You don’t lock your window.
Next time, I won’t ask to come in.
12:11.
I delete a draft before I send it.
It said:
I almost stayed tonight.
I erase it because that’s not how this works.
Not with her.
Not with me.
12:15.
Last one.
Over your heart.
Or not at all.
I set my phone down. Turn off the lights. Stretch out on the couch—not the bed. Never the bed.
And I watch the glow of her apartment door on my screen until my eyes blur. The plant in the corner is dying. Again. I water it anyway. Because sometimes, even things that won’t live deserve a little care before they give up.
She walks into the office at 9:03 a.m.
Three minutes late.
I don’t care.
Because when she passes my glass wall, she’s wearing it. The blouse is silk again. Blush-colored. Fitted. Too sheer to hide what matters.
The ring hangs just beneath the neckline—garnet catching faint light like it knows I’m watching.
