Chapter 5 The Breaking Point

Celeste was unraveling. No matter what she did, no matter how many locks she changed, how many alarms she installed—he was always there. She took different routes home. Walked through busier streets. Paid in cash when she stopped for coffee, just in case he was tracking her transactions. She even considered staying with a friend, but the thought of bringing this nightmare into someone else’s life felt selfish. But every night, the feeling remained. That awareness. That unbearable sense of being watched. Hunted. And then there were the gifts. They stopped appearing at her door. That would be too easy. Too predictable. Instead, they started showing up in places they shouldn’t. A single black rose resting on her desk when she arrived at work—even though she had locked her office the night before. A silk blindfold delivered to the museum front desk—no sender, no note, just waiting for her. Her breath hitched the first time she held it in her hands. Soft. Smooth. Too intimate. She had thrown it away immediately. But later that night, when she entered her bedroom— There was another one. Laid neatly on her pillow. Waiting. Just like him. ------- Celeste wasn’t weak. She refused to be. She filed complaints with her building. Asked security to watch the cameras. They found nothing. She reached out to her landlord, demanding to know if someone else had a key to her unit. No record. No signs of forced entry. She even bought a small pocketknife and kept it in her bag. A feeble attempt at control, but better than nothing. And yet, every step she took to reclaim her safety felt like falling into quicksand. Because he was already ahead of her. When she asked a coworker for advice on installing security cameras, she found a note on her windshield that evening. “That’s cute, Celeste. But we both know it won’t help.” Her blood ran ice cold. She deleted the number and changed hers the next day. That night, her phone buzzed with a new message. “Running won’t change anything.” She dropped the phone like it had burned her. He always knew. She barely slept that night. Every creak of the floor, every whisper of wind against the window sent her into a spiral of panic. She curled up under her blanket, knife gripped tightly in her palm, but it was no comfort. She knew it wouldn’t matter. If he wanted to get to her, he already had ways. ------- She stopped sleeping. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him closer. It started small. A glimpse of him in a reflection. A shadow across the street. A fleeting touch of movement just beyond her periphery. Then it became more. Bolder. One evening, she walked into her apartment building and there he was. Standing near the lobby. Watching. Her breath hitched. She turned to leave, to run— But the doorman greeted him like a friend. Celeste stopped cold. They knew him. As if he belonged there. As if she were the one intruding. She bolted up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her, fingers fumbling to lock every deadbolt. Then her phone vibrated. A text. No name. “You left your bedroom light on. You should be more careful.” Her stomach twisted into knots. She hadn’t left any lights on. She backed against the wall, breath coming in sharp bursts. He could see her. Right now. ------- She should have left the city. She should have disappeared. But the exhaustion—the sheer mental and emotional weight—kept her frozen. She tried checking into a hotel, booking it under a different name, paying in cash. Just for a night. Just to breathe. But the moment she stepped into her room, she felt it. Something was off. The air was too still. And then she saw it. A black satin blindfold laid across her pillow. Identical to the one she had thrown away. She choked back a gasp, stepping away so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. No. No, no, no. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she scanned the room. The windows were closed. The door had been locked. And yet— he had still been here. A chill crawled up her spine as she inched closer, her fingers trembling as she reached for the blindfold. The fabric was warm. Like it had been handled just moments ago. She yanked her hand back. This wasn’t just a message. This was proof. Her breathing grew ragged as she turned on every light in the room, checked the closet, under the bed—nothing. She grabbed the hotel phone, dialing the front desk. The moment the call connected—her cell buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Unknown Number. Her fingers hovered over the answer button, her breath trapped in her chest. She shouldn’t answer. But she did. “Hello?” Her voice barely carried. A beat of silence. Then— “There you go, Celeste. Following directions already.” Her grip tightened around the phone. “How did you—” A soft, pleased hum on the other end. “You shouldn’t have run. You know that, don’t you?” Her pulse roared in her ears. “I don’t know what you want from me.” “You keep saying that,” Dominic murmured. “But you already know.” A shiver crawled down her spine. He wasn’t lying. Then his voice dropped, low, smooth, a dark promise. “Why are you still pretending you don’t want this?” Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched in her lap, her body betraying her in the smallest, most damning ways. And he saw it. Of course he did. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. Because this was what he had been waiting for. The moment she stopped running. The moment she stopped denying. The moment she asked the one question that mattered. Her voice came out in a whisper. “…What happens now?” Dominic exhaled softly. Pleased. His gaze was dark, unreadable. But his answer was certain. “Now, Celeste, we begin.”