Ethan Cross wasn't used to being ignored.
He wasn't used to doors closing quietly in his face, or dinner left untouched, or voices that spoke only when absolutely necessary.
But Lena had mastered the art of not existing in his presence.
She came to his house every evening as scheduled. She sat at the far side of the long table, logged into meetings, jotted down notes, handed him summaries—and never once looked at him longer than a second.
He tried to apologize again. She replied with, "Shall we begin?"
It drove him insane.
Because every moment she was near, he wanted to reach across the table and ask if she still cried when she thought about him. If her hands still trembled after what he'd said. If she still remembered the way their kiss felt just before everything shattered again.
But Lena didn't cry anymore.
At least not in front of him.
It was autumn now.
The leaves outside her garden turned golden and red, drifting lazily through the wind. She still walked every afternoon, wrapped in a scarf and coat, collecting wild herbs and checking on the stray cat who had taken up residence in her shed.
Ethan watched from the upstairs window.
Every single day.
He knew it was wrong. Creepy, even. But he didn't know how else to be near her without pushing her farther away.
And then, one day, he saw something that broke through his quiet observation.
She was walking back toward her gate—but her pace was faster. Her head turned, glancing behind her once, twice.
She clutched her bag tightly.
Then, as if feeling eyes on her, she spun toward his house.
It was as if their eyes met even in between tinted windows.
And her expression said everything.
I'm scared.
That night, she didn't come to his house to work.
Ethan barely slept.
He found himself pacing, listening for footsteps, for sounds that weren't natural. Something had shifted in the air, something dark and crawling.
The next day, Lena pretended nothing had happened.
But she locked her gate. She kept the curtains closed.
Ethan saw it all.
And then it got worse.
She woke up to a soft click at 3 a.m.
At first, she thought it was the wind.
Until she saw the shadow at the window.
A hand fumbling with the lock.
Her body froze—but her mind raced.
She grabbed her phone, but the signal was weak. She couldn't call anyone.
So she ran.
Out the back door.
Over the garden wall.
She sprinted toward the only place she knew she'd be safe.
Ethan was still awake when she burst through his gate, barefoot and breathless.
He was already halfway out the door when he heard her scream, "Someone's trying to get in!"
A man appeared behind her, running through the shadows.
Ethan grabbed the first thing within reach—a baseball bat from the storage room—and ran out to intercept.
"Call the police!" he shouted to Lena as he charged.
The man pulled a knife.
Lena screamed.
Ethan swung.
The blade missed.
The bat landed hard against the man's wrist, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. The man reeled, eyes wild, before darting back into the night.
Ethan wanted to chase him—but Lena pulled him back.
"Please," she begged. "Don't leave me alone."
The police arrived minutes later.
She gave them all the details she could. The description. The feeling of being watched. The sound of her gate creaking when it shouldn't.
They told her to stay somewhere safer until the man was caught.
Ethan didn't wait for her to argue.
"You're coming with me," he said. "End of discussion."
Lena hesitated.
But the fear in her chest was still too raw, too heavy.
She nodded.
He took her back to the city.
To his penthouse.
The very place she once thought she'd never step foot in again.
Now, it wasn't dazzling.
Now, it was just… safe.
He gave her the master bedroom and refused to take no for an answer. He stocked the kitchen with everything she liked. When she woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, he sat with her on the floor until she could breathe again.
And slowly, gently, she let him hold her.
The man had been getting bolder.
Though Lena was now under Ethan's protection in the city, the stalker had somehow followed. Not physically—yet—but through traces. Anonymous texts. A floral arrangement that arrived with no sender. A scrap of her old idol fan photo left under Ethan's car windshield.
He wanted her to know he was still watching.Still near.Still waiting.
Ethan was furious. Security footage confirmed someone had lingered outside the parking structure of his office. A private investigator—already hired—traced a man matching the description wandering around buildings Lena had been known to frequent years ago.
The tension grew.
Lena didn't sleep soundly anymore. Ethan's penthouse became fortress-like, with additional guards stationed nearby. But even that wasn't enough to stop what happened next.