My stalker

8

The next day, I woke up with a pounding headache, unable to get out of bed. After some time, I noticed a tray of food on my nightstand. Soup, bread, tea, and some medicine. I reached for the medicine first but saw a note:

*'Take the medicine after you eat.'*

I rolled my eyes, wondering if there were cameras in my room, and started on the soup. It was delicious, and after finishing, I took the medicine. I gazed out the window, letting my mind wander when I heard the door open. Without looking, I assumed it was Chase.

"Thanks," I mumbled, still lost in my thoughts. Chase sat down on the couch in front of the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. His broad shoulders and messy hair, still damp at the tips, caught my attention. He wore a tight black shirt, and for once, the silence between us felt comfortable, even peaceful.

"I could stay like this forever," I said, closing my eyes briefly, feeling the stillness. When I opened them, I noticed Chase was glancing at me before quickly turning back to the window.

"Ma'am," he began, his voice deep and calm, "May I ask you something?"

"Mhm," I responded, signaling him to go ahead.

"Are you scared?" His question caught me off guard.

I took a moment, considering his words before answering softly, "Not when you're by my side." I kept my eyes closed, avoiding any eye contact.

I heard him stand up and walk toward the door. I opened my eyes slightly, still not looking directly at him. "What a relief," he whispered before leaving the room.

There was something in his voice, a mix of sadness and relief, and I wasn't sure if my answer was the one he needed.

After a while, I got a call about a business trip to Dubai. An important meeting I had completely forgotten about, scheduled for tomorrow morning. I felt annoyed with myself for overlooking it but knew I couldn't cancel. This was too important.

I left my room and found Chase sitting on the couch, typing away on his phone. His attention shifted to me the moment he saw me. "We're going to Dubai," I said, filling a glass of water.

"Yes, ma'am. May I ask when the flight is?"

"Tomorrow morning," I replied, noticing a slight change in his expression. He didn't seem pleased—if anything, he looked troubled by the mention of Dubai.

"I have to go to the office to prepare for the meeting tomorrow," I added.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. I headed to my room to get dressed. I slipped into an oversized sweater that came down just above my knees, pairing it with boots. When I came back out, Chase had changed too, swapping his tight shirt for a more casual pullover.

As we left the house, I asked him to stop at a café for coffee. We entered together, standing in line. When it was my turn, the cashier, a young guy around 23, was overly friendly. Chase noticed too. After I placed my order, he suggested I wait in the car, so I did.

I waited for Chase, sipping on my coffee. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Just as I was about to check on him, the car door opened, and Chase handed me my drink. He looked oddly...satisfied.

"What took you so long?" I asked, taking a sip.

"The coffee machine was broken. I had to repair it," he replied casually.

"You fixed it?" I asked, confused. "We could've just gone to another café."

"It was a minor problem," he said, dismissing the topic. I didn't press further.

---

**Chase's POV**

I watched as Rose walked out of the café. The cashier's eyes followed her too. Irritation simmered inside me. When I turned back to collect the coffee, I noticed something scribbled on the cup. A phone number.

I placed the cup on the counter, calm. "This isn't part of the order," I said coldly.

The cashier looked at me, confused. "Nah, sir, it's the right order," he said after checking the system.

Without warning, I smashed the hot coffee into his hand, forcing him back onto the counter. "That's not an order, that's a fucking death wish," I growled, slamming his head against the table. I glanced behind me to make sure Rose hadn't seen anything. She was still in the car, oblivious.

I grabbed the guy by his hair, holding him down. The café had emptied—everyone else too scared to intervene. I dragged him into the backroom, where I beat him until his face was a bloody mess. I grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to look at me.

"You picked the wrong person," I said, shoving him back against the wall.

I washed my hands in the sink, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over me. Walking back out, I told the other terrified employee to make the order. He complied quickly, handing me a fresh cup. I grabbed it and left.

As I stepped outside, I sighed. That was like therapy.

Violence isn't the answer—yeah, right.

——-
Enjoy.