Way Back Home

Chapter 9

**Eight Years Ago**

The door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the apartment, the faint scent of Elliott's cologne still lingering in the air from our date. Normally, he would stay a bit longer, waiting for Vincent to get home from practice, hanging out in our living room like he belonged there. But tonight had been different.

His father had called just as he was walking me to the door, something about an emergency at their company. The weight of responsibility in his eyes was clear. Elliott was being pulled deeper into the world of his family's business—the chain of department stores that he would one day inherit. He kissed me softly, promised to text me, and then he was gone.

I sighed, slipping off my shoes and heading toward my bedroom, already planning to curl up in bed with a book. But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

A small, pink box with a black ribbon sat neatly on my bed.

My stomach twisted. The box was perfectly placed, the ribbon tied in a way that made it clear someone had taken their time with it. It wasn't a gift. It was a message. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive, and a cold chill ran down my spine as I stepped closer.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand trembling as I reached for the box. Something about it felt wrong—eerie, like it didn't belong in my space. But curiosity, or maybe fear, pushed me forward. I untied the ribbon, lifted the lid, and then gasped.

Inside were photographs.

Dozens of them.

Pictures of me at the university, with Vincent, with Elliott. They were taken from a distance, candid shots that made my skin crawl. Whoever had taken them had been following me, watching me for God knows how long. My heart raced as I sifted through the photos, my breath catching in my throat when I reached the last one.

It was a picture of Elliott and me in the secluded section of the library. The photo was taken at the exact moment we kissed, tucked away where we thought no one could see us. The intimacy of it made my blood run cold. Someone had been there, watching us.

At the bottom of the pile was an envelope with my name written in elegant script. I knew what was coming before I even opened it, but the words still hit me like a punch to the gut.

*Darling, I've found you.*

A scream tore from my throat, raw and primal, before I could stop it. The fear, the disgust—it all rushed to the surface at once. I stumbled back from the bed, clutching the note in my hand, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I knew who it was. I didn't need to guess. He'd found me. After all these years, he'd found me again.

I had to get out. I couldn't let him come near me, near my family. And Elliott... Elliott couldn't know. He'd be in danger too.

There was only one person I could call. The only person who knew the full extent of what had happened when I was eight years old.

Devin.

With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring, his voice calm but alert.

"Tori?"

"He's back, Dev," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He's coming for me again. Please, let me run. Hide me, Devin. Please."

I sounded like a child—like the terrified eight-year-old girl I used to be. But I couldn't stop it. The fear was consuming me.