𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 | 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄

The day dragged on with an unsettling slowness. I barely registered the hours passing as I moved from task to task, my mind always returning to that chilling message and the haunting feeling of being watched. Despite the press of various commitments—meetings, interviews, and planning sessions—my heart wasn't in any of it. Each interaction felt like a performance, a carefully constructed facade that hid the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.

The press junket Ashley mentioned was the first major event on my radar. Despite the weight of the morning's events, I forced myself to attend, showing up at the swanky venue with the same polished smile and unwavering confidence that had become second nature. The cameras flashed, the microphones were thrust in front of me, and I spoke the lines expected of Supernova with practiced ease. Yet, each question, each flash of a camera, felt like a further intrusion into a life that was rapidly falling apart.

By the time the event wrapped up, I was exhausted—not from the physical demands but from the emotional strain. My mind was a fractured mess, unable to focus on anything but the looming threat. I felt like I was constantly on edge, expecting at any moment for someone to reveal themselves as the face behind the message, the stalker who knew too much.

Back at my apartment, I tried to unwind, but the usual comforts felt hollow. The TV played softly in the background, but I couldn't focus on it. The images and sounds were just white noise to the chaos in my head. I sank onto the couch, running a hand through my hair, my thoughts racing through every possible scenario.

I needed answers. I needed to confront the situation head-on rather than retreating into the false comfort of Vought's high-profile engagements. But where to start? Who could I trust in a world where everyone had an agenda and where every shadow seemed to hold a threat?

An idea began to form—a plan to investigate the stalker myself. It wasn't the most rational decision, but it was the only one that gave me a sense of control. I couldn't go to the police; I couldn't even trust the people closest to me. If there was a deeper connection, if this was more than just some random obsession, then I needed to find out for myself.

I retrieved the phone from the bed and stared at the message again, dissecting every word. It was the sunflower, the hands, the sense of knowing—it all pointed to something personal. But what?

Just as frustration began to set in, my phone buzzed with a new message.

UNKNOWN: Did you enjoy the press junket? You looked... distracted.

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. My pulse quickened as I stared at the words, trying to process the implications. Whoever this was, they had been watching me—today. They were close enough to see me at the event, to notice the tension I had tried so hard to conceal beneath the smiles and rehearsed answers.

I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. My apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. Every noise—the hum of the fridge, the faint sound of traffic outside—felt amplified, like the world was conspiring to keep me on edge.

A new message arrived, just as I was about to block the number.

UNKNOWN: Don't bother. Blocking me won't help. I'll always find you.

I swore under my breath, gripping the phone tighter, the tension now boiling over into anger. My mind raced with questions. Who was this? What did they want? How long had they been following me?

The worst part was the overwhelming feeling of vulnerability—like someone had peeled back the layers of my life, exposing my every secret, my every weakness.

Another message came through.

UNKNOWN: You really should have taken my advice, Carrie. Stop pretending you're in control.