I’m in the middle of reviewing fabric samples when the delivery driver walks in, holding a tall glass vase overflowing with red roses.

Beautiful. Thoughtful. Deliberate.

But Alex knows I prefer white hydrangeas and pale pink roses. That’s what he always sends me.

Alex didn’t send these.

My stomach turns as I reach for the envelope, fingers stiff, breath held.

Magnolia,

I’m sorry. For everything. I’ll make it right.

—T

I walk the vase to the back of the studio and toss the entire thing in the dumpster, water and all. I don’t care how beautiful they are. They reek of manipulation.

There’s a car parked across the street from my office, blacked out from top to tires. Matte finish. No chrome. No shine. The windows are tinted too dark to be legal.

It’s there when I arrive in the morning. Still there after lunch. Gone by early afternoon… but back again before I shut down for the day.

I try not to let it get to me, but my skin is tight with awareness, my every move more careful. I find myself repeatedly glancing over my shoulder without meaning to. Listening for footsteps I don’t hear.

It might be nothing. A coincidence. But deep down, I know it’s something.

I try to shake it off. Charleston isn’t that big. People park in weird places all the time. But it sticks with me—that tight feeling at the base of my spine. The itch of being watched. Of knowing I’m not alone even when I am.

My nerves are frayed by the time I leave work and go to Violet’s. I’m two steps in before she picks up on my vibe. “What’s he done now?”

God, how does she do that?

“Vi, I’m okay. It’ll––”

“Nope.” She cuts me off with a glare that could peel paint. “You don’t get to minimize what’s happening just because you’re used to carrying everything alone. Not this time.”

I open my mouth, searching for something to say—some defense, some excuse—but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. I’ve been rationalizing, trying to make it feel less serious than it is. But it’s not nothing.

It’s Tyson. At my office. Uninvited. Unhinged.

It’s the flowers I never wanted.

It’s the car with black windows and timing too perfect to be coincidence.

“You have to report this.”

“He lied, showed up uninvited, sent flowers, parked on public property. I’m not sure there’s anything to report.”

“Maybe not but doing nothing isn’t an option. This isn’t the type of man you ignore and hope he gets bored. You go to the police, and if they won’t do anything, you at least make them aware.”