Chapter 4 Bound By Fear

Celeste sat in the center of her bed, gripping the black box with trembling hands. The weight of it pressed into her palms, heavier than it should be. The embroidered ribbon inside shimmered in the dim light, her name woven into it with chilling precision. Her name. He had left it here. He had touched it. Tied it. How had he gotten this close without her knowing? Without her waking? The question looped in her mind, growing louder, more frantic, but no answer came. Only silence. A silence that stretched so thick and deep it swallowed the air in her lungs. She had to get out. The need to move clawed at her, adrenaline surging. She pushed herself off the bed, snatching her phone off the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled over the screen, barely able to tap out three simple numbers. 9-1-1. The line rang once. Twice. "911, what’s your emergency?" Celeste inhaled sharply. "Someone was in my apartment. I—I think they’ve been following me. They left something outside my door and in my bedroom—" “Is the person still there?” She cast a frantic glance around the room. No sign of forced entry. No shadowy figures lurking in the corners. She swallowed hard. “No, but—” “Miss, is there a break-in or immediate danger?” Her grip on the phone tightened. "You don’t understand. He’s been inside. I don’t know how, but he has." Another pause. "Are there signs of forced entry?" Celeste’s breath hitched. No. Nothing was broken. The door had still been locked. Like he had never been here at all. “I—I don’t know how he got in,” she admitted. “Do you have security cameras?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.” “Any direct threats? Notes? Messages?” Just her name. Embroidered on a ribbon. Like a brand. Like a promise. "No," she whispered. The voice on the other end softened. "I can send an officer to take a report, but without evidence, there’s not much we can do." Celeste barely heard the rest. Her stomach twisted, her pulse hammering painfully in her chest. They weren’t going to help her. Because there was no proof. Just a feeling. Just a name stitched onto silk. And Dominic knew it. ------- Celeste sat in her office the next morning, a hollow shell of herself. She hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Every sound in her apartment had set her on edge, every shadow had felt like it was breathing. She’d given up around five a.m. and left for work early. The museum halls had never felt so vast and empty. Normally, they brought comfort—today, they felt like an open cage. She barely reacted when Ava’s voice cut through the haze. "Jesus, Cel, you look like hell." Celeste forced a weak laugh, reaching for her coffee. "Thanks. Just what I needed to hear." Ava slid into the chair across from her, brows furrowing. "You didn’t sleep, did you? What’s going on?" Celeste hesitated. What could she say that wouldn’t make her sound insane? But Ava was staring at her expectantly, concern etched in her face. "I think… someone’s been watching me," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Ava’s expression shifted, concern deepening. "What do you mean? Like… a stalker?" Celeste exhaled shakily. "I don’t know. I keep finding things. Roses. Ribbons. My things are being moved. And last night—" She stopped herself. If she said she woke up with a ribbon beside her, Ava would think she was losing it. "Cel, have you been stressed lately? You’ve been working nonstop. Maybe you just need—" Celeste’s gut twisted. "You think I’m making this up." Ava sighed. "I didn’t say that. But… you haven’t been sleeping. And if nothing is missing, and there’s no sign of a break-in, maybe—" "Maybe I’m imagining it?" The words were bitter in her mouth. Ava held up her hands. "I just think you need to take a breath. Get some rest. You’re scaring yourself." Celeste forced a tight smile. "Right. Thanks for the advice." ------- By lunchtime, Celeste was wound so tight she could barely breathe. She had to get out of the office. Clear her head. She stepped outside, blinking against the bright light. The streets hummed around her—normal, buzzing with life. And then— "You’ve been avoiding me." Her heart stopped. The voice was smooth, low. Familiar. She turned slowly. Dominic. Standing beside her like he belonged there. Like they had arranged to meet. Dressed in dark slacks and a button-down, sleeves rolled up, tribal tattoos snaking over golden-brown skin. He looked… effortless. As if this were just another ordinary day. As if he hadn’t left a ribbon beside her bed and another one with her name embroidered on it outside her front door. Celeste’s throat tightened. "What are you doing here?" Dominic smiled, slow and knowing. "You didn’t seem pleased to see me last time. Thought I’d change that." Her stomach twisted. "You need to leave." He chuckled. "Leave? I just got here." Celeste took a step back, but Dominic only tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "You don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he murmured. "People might think you’re overreacting." Her breath hitched. That was what Ava had said. What the police had implied. Her skin prickled. He knew. He always knew. Dominic took a slow step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His presence swallowed the space between them. "You look tired," he said smoothly. "You’re not sleeping well." Celeste’s pulse pounded in her ears. She forced herself to stand tall, to fight the tremor in her voice. "Stay away from me." Dominic’s smile deepened. "Are you sure that’s what you want?" His words coiled around her, dark and velvety. Too intimate. Too certain. Then, before she could say another word, he leaned in—just enough for his lips to brush the shell of her ear. "I’ll see you soon, Celeste." A shiver ripped through her. Then he was gone. Vanishing into the crowd, just like before. She stood frozen, breath uneven, heart slamming against her ribs. Because he was right. She would see him soon. She always did.