Page 18 of Stalked By the Executive

How long has he been watching me? Spying on me like I'm his own personal peep show?

Revulsion curls my stomach. But beneath it lurks a darker feeling.Excitement.

I drop the panties as if they've burned me.

I knew he was possessive, even obsessive, but I know just how far it goes.

I have to get out of here. Away from him. But my legs won't move. I'm frozen, torn between fear and something else I don't dare name.

The lace cuts into my palms, but I cling to it like a lifeline. The only thing anchoring me in a world that's spinning out of control.

I stumble out of his office, panties clutched in my fist. The edges of my vision go dark and hazy. I need to get out of here before I pass out, before he comes back and finds me like this.

My legs move on autopilot, carrying me down the hall. Through the lobby, ignoring the curious glances of the receptionist. Out the front doors into the biting wind.

The cold air slaps my face, shocking some of the numbness away. I take a deep, ragged breath that scrapes my raw throat.

Think. I need to think. But my mind is a chaotic swirl of rage and betrayal.

How could he do this? How could I have been so stupid?

The signs were all there. I just didn't want to see them. His intensity, his obsession...the way he looked at me sometimes like he wanted to devour me whole.

I hug myself, panties crumpled in my fist. He alreadyhasdevoured me. Swallowed up the best parts of me and left nothing behind but a shell.

Anger wars with sorrow, twisting my insides into knots. I don't know whether to scream or collapse into tears.

So I do neither. I stand motionless on the sidewalk, buffeted by the wind. Waiting for the maelstrom inside me to quiet so I can figure out where to go from here.

One thing is certain—after today, nothing will ever be the same.

***

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, rattling against my hip. No doubt another call or text from Marcus.

I don't bother checking. I won't answer. Not now, not ever again.

He's left dozens of increasingly desperate voicemails and texts over the past couple days. At first pleading, then demanding I return to work. Return to him.

As if.

Does he really think I'm that stupid? That I would willingly subject myself to his manipulation and abuse again?

But I feel a prick of longing when I think of him. I promptly tamp those feelings down, though. Icannotbe with a man who betrays me.

No matter how much my body still burns for him.

The phone keeps buzzing. I yank it from my pocket and hurl it into the street, watching with grim satisfaction as it shatters under the wheels of a passing taxi.

Let him keep calling. I've cut the lines of communication once and for all.

My hand closes around the panties in my pocket, crumpling the lace and silk into a ball.

I straighten my shoulders against the wind. The storm inside begins to settle into a cold, hard resolve.

It's time to move on. Past the betrayal, past the hurt, past Marcus.

But I feel my resolve crumble even as I think of it, think of never seeing his handsome, face again, never seeing the way his eyes burn when they settle on me.

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