𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 ➻ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

THE FOLLOWING DAY PASSED IN A BLUR. Anastasia dragged herself through her shift at the clothing store, barely able to focus on anything other than the memory of the man standing outside her apartment. It was impossible to shake the feeling that he was still out there, watching, waiting. Even as she folded clothes for the store, her thoughts kept drifting back to that night—the blood, the body, the strange messages. She was trapped in a nightmare, one that seemed to have no end.

She had kept her phone off all day, refusing to look at the texts, ignoring the fear that clawed at her chest with every passing moment. But when she finally returned to her apartment that evening, the silence felt heavier than ever. The rain was still as relentless as last night, battering the windows with no sign of letting up.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, listening. But all she could hear was the sound of her own breath, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the rustle of the rain against the glass. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

Yet her gut told her something was wrong.

She stepped inside cautiously, closing the door behind her, and locked it without thinking. The apartment felt colder than usual, though she couldn't tell if it was the weather outside or the creeping unease settling over her like a fog.

Her phone buzzed again.

She stared at it for a long time, almost willing it to stop. The messages had been haunting her all day, even without looking. But she couldn't avoid it anymore. Her hand hovered over the phone, and with a resigned breath, she picked it up.

The screen lit up with another text from the same unknown number.

"I know you're scared. I understand."

The words made her stomach twist. How could he possibly understand? He didn't know her. He couldn't.

"You should have stayed away from me."

Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. She didn't need to guess what that meant. He was blaming her for all of this—whatever this was. For seeing him. For not running when she had the chance.

But she wasn't the one who needed to leave.

She was just about to respond, her fingers trembling as she typed out a sharp reply, when something caught her attention. Her gaze shifted to the window, the glass still fogged from the cold outside. And there—standing just beyond the streetlight again—was him.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. He wasn't moving this time, just standing there, his figure outlined by the dim light. His gaze was fixed on her window, and even from this distance, she felt the weight of it—his eyes boring into her, unblinking, like he was daring her to do something.

Her pulse quickened. What does he want from me?

Before she could make another move, her phone buzzed again.

"Don't come outside."

She dropped the phone back onto the table, her stomach twisting into a knot. The words were direct. He was watching her, waiting. But why? Why did he keep doing this? Why didn't he just leave her alone?

Anastasia's mind spun with confusion, fear, and a nagging sense of something darker than just a random encounter. She had no idea what she had stumbled into, but she knew one thing—she was no longer in control.

She didn't know if it was his words or the sick feeling in her gut, but something pushed her to act.

Just ignore him. Ignore everything.