Page 11 of Stalked By the Intern

I consider telling Andy, father's intern about my stalker. Maybe he could help me? He was going to help me with my painting. But I haven't seen him much lately—not since our coffee, in fact.

I try not to let the disappointment get to me. I thought he liked me, but maybe I read it all wrong...

I stop going out. The windows are eyes, the streets veins that pulse with the possibility of his presence. The sun sets, and I shrink further away from the world, retreating into the safety of shadows and silence. But even here, in the stillness, I feelhim—whoever he is—a spectral caress, a whispered breath against my ear, promising a love drenched in poison and possession.

This house becomes my prison, and outside, the stalker prowls, an unseen predator circling his prey. And I, the unwilling object of a twisted affection, wait in the dark, wondering if the light will ever be safe again.

But then I receive a phone call.

"Willow?" My father's private investigator speaks over the line.

"Yes?"

"I know who your stalker is."

CHAPTER

SIX

Andy

My phone buzzes,a single, stark vibration that cuts through the haze of my thoughts. The text on the screen is as cold and commanding as Richard Hartley's steel-gray eyes:

My office. Now.

Ice slithers down my spine. He's found out. Somehow, he knows.

I rise from my desk, my palms clammy, heart hammering against my ribs like a bird desperate for escape. I'm walking, each step a march toward damnation or deliverance. The hallway stretches endlessly, lined with doors that hold whispered secrets and judgments. They're irrelevant. Only one door matters.

Richard's door is ajar, an ominous invitation. I push it open, the creak of its hinges singing a foreboding tune. I step into his lair, a realm of power where I am but a moth drawn to a flame—his flame.

The room smells of leather and old money, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. Richard sits behind his mahogany desk, a private investigator's report splayed before him like an accusation. His silver hair is a crown of authority, his expression carved from granite.

"Sit," he commands, and I obey, though my body vibrates with a mix of dread and a perverse thrill. I've been caught, yet part of me thrills at being here, under his scrutiny, connected to Willow even in this twisted way.

"Andrew Holt," he begins, the name sounds like a verdict from his lips. I swallow hard, my mouth dry, fingers tapping a silent and erratic rhythm on my thigh. What does he know? Does he see how my world orbits around Willow, her brown hair a halo in my darkest dreams?

I sit there, barely breathing, a statue waiting for life or destruction at the hands of a vengeful god. The silence is thick, filled with the electricity of confrontation, the heady scent of fear mingling with the musk of forbidden desire.

"Richard," I start, but my voice cracks, a rookie mistake that reveals too much. I bite back the rest of my words, sealing them behind a facade of stoicism. My mind is a tempest, thoughts whirling in a chaotic dance, each whispering Willow's name like a sacred mantra.

The man before me holds my fate, can crush my future with a word. Yet, as I sit there, facing the abyss, I realize that even his wrath pales in comparison to the thought of losing her, my obsession, my all-consuming fire.

"Are you aware of why you are here, Andy?" Richard's voice slices through my reverie. I fix my gaze on him, trying to anchor myself in the storm he's unleashed within me. Fear and excitement are a cocktail coursing through my veins, potent and addictive.

I don't move.

He stares at me. The threat hangs in the air between us, a guillotine poised to fall.

But I remain stoic, a mask of calm over a soul ablaze.

The air crackles with fury, Richard's eyes burning holes into my very being. "You've been following Willow," he spits the words like venom. "You think I wouldn't find out? You violated her, Andy. Her privacy, her safety—everything!"

His voice is a whip, each accusation a lash against my skin. But pain morphs into pleasure, the sound of her name on his lips stoking the embers of my obsession.

"Don't even try to deny it! It's all here!" He tosses the file across his desk in disgust.

I don't deny anything. I don't speak. I just sit there, silent. My heart hammers against my chest, a frenzied drumbeat echoing the chaos within. Yet outwardly, I'm a statue, an enigma wrapped in the guise of a law student.

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