TORN BY ECSTASY BY Vail blackRose

chapter 8

Chapter eight

Zara

It's been two months since I arrived in Seattle, and nearly half a month into my internship with Mr. Holloway. Things had finally started to feel normal—or at least, as normal as they could be in a place so different from home. The work was enjoyable, and Mr. Holloway had been nothing but supportive. I was learning so much, feeling a little more like I belonged.

Until today.

I was in the middle of sorting through some manuscripts when I received a package—a sleek, black box wrapped with a striking red ribbon. The sight of it made me freeze for a moment, something uneasy settling in the pit of my stomach. It was addressed to me, Zara Asher, written neatly on the attached note.

I hesitated, staring at the box for a good ten minutes before even thinking about touching it. Who had sent it? Why here, to my workplace? My curiosity wrestled with my instinct to leave it alone. I should've ignored it, but the unknown gnawed at me. What could possibly be inside?

Finally, cursing my curiosity, I gave in. My fingers trembled as I untied the ribbon and carefully opened the lid.

Inside, my breath caught in my throat.

Books. Not just any books, but all the books I had touched at the shop a few days ago. The ones I'd picked up, flipped through, admired... but never bought. Each of them was here—some in limited edition, some with special covers. They were beautiful, perfect. But the sight of them made my stomach turn with dread.

And then I saw the note.

It was black, written in elegant gold ink, almost too beautiful to touch. My hand shook as I picked it up, holding it like it might burn me if I held it too long. The words were simple, but they sent a chill down my spine.

"One day I will find the right words...
And they will be simple."

I jolted, dropping the note like it had scorched my fingers. The words seemed almost poetic, beautiful in a way that made my skin crawl. I didn't know why, but something about the message, the handwriting, the precision of it—it felt wrong.

Yet, the line... the line itself. It was beautiful.

I shook off the discomfort, picking up the note again and quickly placing it back into the box with the books. I didn't want anyone to see the way my hands trembled as I tucked it all away, trying to push down the rising sense of panic.

Who sent this?

Why would someone send me the exact books I touched at the store? And how had they known? The question clawed at my mind, refusing to leave me in peace. I tried to think of anyone who might have noticed me at the shop, but nothing came to mind. The only thing I was left with was a growing sense of unease.

I grabbed the box, forcing myself to act like it was no big deal, but deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Back at my dorm, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the box once again. The books were beautiful, limited editions, covers that I had never seen before, each one more perfect than the last. If it weren't for the unsettling way they had come to me, I would have been thrilled.

I ran my fingers over one of the covers, tracing the design before quickly pulling my hand away. I should be excited, but instead, my heart raced with anxiety.

I stuffed the box under my bed, trying to push it out of sight, out of mind. Maybe this was some strange coincidence. Maybe someone at the bookstore had seen me and decided to do something nice, a mysterious benefactor. But deep down, I knew that wasn't the case.