Racheal stood frozen, Declan's words echoing inside her head. You're not a joke. Not to me.
The sincerity in his tone had shaken her more than any teasing or smirk ever could. He wasn't playing around, not this time.
Declan took a small step closer, his voice quieter now. "Racheal… why are you always so quick to run from me? Do I scare you that much?"
Her lips parted, but no answer came. Because the truth was—yes, he did scare her. Not in the way of fear, but in the way of how deeply he could affect her with just a look, a word, a presence.
"I…" She looked away, clutching her diary against her chest like a shield. "It's complicated."
Declan let out a faint chuckle, though his eyes stayed serious. "Complicated, huh? That's your excuse for everything."
His words carried no malice, but they stung. She wanted to snap back, yet all she could manage was a whisper. "You wouldn't understand."
He leaned down slightly, his voice low. "Then make me understand."
The air thickened between them. Racheal could hear her own heartbeat, wild and uneven, as though her body had betrayed her carefully built composure. Declan's nearness was overwhelming—the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes refused to let her escape.
And then, just as his hand brushed lightly against her diary, she snapped back.
"Declan, please." Her voice trembled, and she took a quick step back.
His hand froze midair. For a moment, silence filled the room, heavy and fragile. Then Declan exhaled slowly, straightening up. "Alright," he murmured. "I won't push. Not tonight."
He picked up his bag from the chair, his expression unreadable. But before he left, he paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder.
"Racheal… I'm not giving up on you. So stop trying to push me away."
And with that, he was gone.
Racheal stood in the middle of her room, her diary clutched tightly in her hands. Slowly, she sank onto her bed, flipping it open with trembling fingers. Her pen hovered over the page before she finally scrawled:
Why does he sound so certain? Why does it feel like the more I run, the closer he gets?
The ink smeared slightly where her tears touched the paper. She closed the diary quickly and hugged it to her chest.
For the first time in weeks, it wasn't Mr. Unknown's haunting shadow that filled her thoughts.
It was Declan.
And that realization scared her more than anything else.
.............
The Next Day
The sun streamed brightly through her curtains, mocking the storm inside her chest. Racheal dragged herself out of bed, telling herself over and over: New day. New start.
Her attempt at a quiet morning failed the moment Mia bounced up to her after class.
"Racheal!" Mia grinned ear to ear. "You're free this evening, right? You have to come over for dinner."
"Dinner?" Racheal blinked.
"At my house." Mia clasped her hands dramatically. "Please, please, don't say no. My family's been dying to meet you."
Racheal hesitated. Her chest tightened at the thought. "Mia… I don't think—"
"No excuses!" Mia cut her off, linking arms with her. "You're coming. End of story."
By evening, Racheal found herself standing outside the Carter residence, nerves eating at her. The house glowed warmly from within, voices floating through the windows.
The door swung open before she could knock. Mia grinned and pulled her inside. "You made it! Come on, dinner's ready."
Racheal's steps faltered when she saw Declan descending the stairs, one hand in his pocket, his eyes fixed on her. His lips curved faintly—not a full smile, not a smirk—but enough to unsteady her.
"Look who's here," he said, his voice low and familiar.
Racheal's heart raced, but Mia tugged her to the table before she could react.
The dining room was grand, the chandelier casting a golden glow over the long table. Declan sat across from her, his gaze flicking to her every so often, while Mia chattered happily at her side.
It was almost comfortable—until Gideon spoke.
"So this is the girl Mia won't stop talking about?" His tone carried a sharp edge, his eyes assessing her too closely.
"Yes!" Mia beamed, oblivious to the tension. "This is Racheal—my best friend."
"Best friend?" Gideon leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You barely know her."
The words cut deep. Racheal's grip on her fork tightened as her appetite vanished.
Declan's eyes hardened. "Gideon, enough."
"What?" Gideon shrugged, his smirk growing. "I'm just saying, people aren't always what they seem. Isn't that right, Racheal?"
Her chest clenched. The way he looked at her—it was as if he knew something she wanted buried.
Declan's voice dropped, firm and cold. "I said, stop."
Silence pressed over the table, thick and suffocating. Mia tried to laugh it off, but Racheal's hands trembled under the table.
Why does he look at me like that? What does he know?
Dinner dragged on, but the unease lingered. As soon as she could, Racheal excused herself, stepping into the cool night air, her pulse racing.
Behind her, Gideon's smirk lingered—sharp, knowing, dangerous.
And for the first time, Racheal realized the shadows around her weren't just from Mr. Unknown.
They were sitting right at the Carter family table.