Let Me Love You

- Chapter Eighteen -

I sat on my desk staring at the open Review of Medical Microbiology, but the words swam, blurring like I was looking through fog. I wasn't reading. I was hiding—distracting myself from the thoughts I didn't want to deal with.

I dropped the book onto the floor, the dull thud barely breaking the silence. Every second spent sitting here felt like I was sinking, bit by bit. I needed air.

Without a second thought, I grabbed my running shoes, laced them up, and slipped out the door. The cool evening air hiting my face as I started jogging, hoping the movement would shake this heaviness. But the tension sat in my chest like a fucking weight, stubborn and unstoppable.

I pushed myself to run faster, my feet pounding against the pavement. I just needed to clear my mind, and about halfway through the run to my car, that weird feeling hit me again—that crawling sense that someone was watching me. I kept moving, trying to shake it, but a tingle crawled up my spine, the kind that warns you not to look over your shoulder, but you do it anyway.

Finally, I glanced back, a black Mercedes G-Wagon parked at the far end of the street, still as a shadow. Its windows were tinted, dark enough that I couldn't see inside.

My pulse quickened as I slowed down, looking straight at it. But the car didn't move. It just sat there, perfectly still, like it had all the time in the world. I told myself it was probably someone parked there waiting for someone else.

I took a deep breath and kept moving, but as I got closer to my car, I glanced back one more time. And that's when I noticed a small black heart sticker on the back window. A tiny, easy-to-miss detail.

It's just stress, I told myself. It's just stress.

I got in my car, started the engine, and glanced in the rearview mirror. The Mercedes stayed where it was, unmoving. It didn't follow me as I pulled out. I tried to relax, focusing on the road as I drove toward Santa Monica, where the ocean air usually cleared my head. Tonight, I could use it.

But that feeling of being watched wouldn't leave me. I kept checking the mirror, and my grip on the steering wheel was tight. Still, nothing followed.

I tried to let it go, pulling into the parking lot by the beach and stepping out, feeling the breeze brush over me. I jogged down the street, heading toward the pier, hoping to shake off the unease clinging to me.

And then I stopped. A block ahead, half-hidden in the shadows, was the black Mercedes.

I froze, my breath catching. It was the same car—the dark windows, the quiet presence. And there, on the back window, that same little black heart sticker.

My stomach dropped. This wasn't random. They'd followed me.

I tensed, my body poised to run, but I stayed put, staring at the car as my mind raced. Every instinct screamed at me to get out of there.