Fear

35

The moment the memories clicked into place, I marched straight to his office. I didn't care what time it was. I didn't care if he didn't want to talk. I just needed to know.

I didn't knock. I didn't care if he was busy.

The door was unlocked. I shoved it open and stepped inside like I had every right to be there. But the second I saw him, I stopped.

He was already looking at me.

Sitting behind his desk, calm and composed like he'd summoned me with a thought. His fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes tracked mine with the kind of focus that made my chest tighten. He wasn't surprised. If anything, he looked like he'd been waiting in calculated silence.

He looked angry. Not visibly, not in the way most people did. But I could see it in the way his mouth didn't quite relax. In the way his jaw flexed. Like he was holding something back. A look I'd gotten used to.

"Emily," he said calmly. "Come in. Close the door."

I stood awkwardly in the doorway, now less certain than I had been before. I didn't move, one foot still on the threshold. "I remembered something."

He tilted his head, barely. He looked bored already. "Hmm?"

"It wasn't just the club," I said, voice softer than I wanted it to be. "It wasn't the first time I saw you."

He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, like he was suppressing a smirk.

"I saw you. You were following me before you even spoke to me. Before I even knew you." I stepped further into the room. "You were stalking me."

He rolled his eyes, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Your memory's unreliable. You know that."

"Don't," I snapped, fists clenching, hairs bristling on the back of my neck. "Don't gaslight me."

"You're confusing things," he said evenly. "It's not uncommon. Trauma distorts memory. You start seeing patterns that weren't there."

I took a step forward, glaring at him. "I know what I saw, Tyler."

"You think so," he nodded. "But your brain is too desperate to make sense of what happened. It'll reach for any fragment, any face, and glue it into the preconceived story you've built." His gaze sharpened. "You're remembering out of order."

That made me pause. My eyes narrowed. "So that man I kept seeing wasn't you? How can I trust a word you say?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." My voice cracked. "It matters because you stalked me. Because you picked me."

He smiled faintly. "Of course I did."

I sighed. "So you admit it." Not a question, a statement.

"I admit that I was... observant." He stood up slowly, smoothing the creases in his clean white shirt. "But stalking? That's an ugly word."

I stepped back instinctively as he came around the desk. But the door was still open behind me, and when I reached for it, he moved faster.

He shoved it shut with one hand, the slam echoing through the office. Then he was in front of me, towering, and I barely had time to breathe before his hand hit the wall beside my head.

The other grabbed my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look at him.

"You want answers, Emily?" he whispered. "Fine. You were interesting. Do you know how rare that is? Most people go their whole lives without leaving a dent. But you... I saw something soft in you. Something I wanted."