Stuck with YOU || BECKFREEN/FREENBECK STORY

Chapter 57

Author's POV

The atmosphere around Freen had been strange all week. Not loud... not obvious... but heavy. Like the air had weight. As if something—or someone—was watching. But with her mother recovering, meetings piling up, and Rebecca staying with her mom almost every day, she barely had time to breathe, let alone think clearly about what happened with the janitor.

The revelation had been looping in her mind:

Jay Reyes died four months ago.

But she saw him.
She talked to him.
He smiled at her.
He stood beside her car.
He followed her.

No matter how many times she tried to convince herself she misunderstood, the truth was too sharp to swallow. You can't misunderstand a face you saw up close. You can't imagine a voice that clearly called you.

"Lady boss."

Freen kept hearing the echo like it was carved into her bones.

Now, back in her office, the afternoon sun leaked through the blinds, slashing lines of light across her desk. It should've made her feel safe. But her fingers trembled slightly when she lifted her pen. She wasn't scared of ghosts—she wasn't even sure if she believed in that kind of thing.

But she was scared of being watched.

She rubbed her face and leaned back.
"Get it together, Sarocha..." she whispered.

Before she could even attempt to collect her thoughts, her phone vibrated loudly on the desk.

Rebecca calling.

Freen immediately answered.

"Hon?" she said softly.

"Hey..." Rebecca's voice was gentle, calm, reassuring. "Your mom is asleep. I just finished helping her with her medicine."

Guilt twisted in Freen's stomach—again.

"You don't have to be there every day," she murmured.

"I want to be," Rebecca corrected. "She's my family too. And you're working so hard. Someone needs to be with her."

That made Freen swallow a little harder.

"You sound tired," Rebecca added with concern.

Freen looked around her quiet office.
"I'm... thinking too much."

"Thinking about what?"

Freen hesitated.
She didn't want to dump everything on Rebecca—not the fear, not the confusion, not the janitor's impossible appearance.

"About everything," Freen replied vaguely.

Rebecca hummed. "Babe... come home early tonight, okay? I'll cook. Or we can order something. I miss you."

Those three words—"I miss you"—felt like a soft hand pulling her back from drowning.

"Yeah... I'll come home," Freen said, finally exhaling.

After they hung up, Freen stood up, grabbed her blazer, and headed to the elevator. The building was still busy—employees walking around, papers shuffling, printers humming. Normal things. grounding things. But even in the noise, she felt it.

A pair of eyes on her back.

She turned.
Nothing.
Just some staff chatting.

She forced herself into the elevator.

By the time she reached the underground parking, the air felt colder than usual. Too cold. Her steps echoed against the concrete floor as she approached her sports car.

Then—

A soft clatter behind her.

Like something metallic fell.

She froze. Slowly, she turned around.

Nothing but a tool cart in the corner, parked beside the maintenance room.
But one wrench was on the ground, rolling a little before stopping.

Freen narrowed her eyes.

"Hello?" she called.

No answer.

She approached the door of the maintenance room and knocked.

No response.

She turned the knob.

Locked.

Her heartbeat jumped. She forced a laugh.
"Great. I'm scaring myself again..."

But as she turned back to her car—

Someone whispered.

Very close.

"You shouldn't have survived."

Freen's breath hitched.
She spun around.

No one.
No figure.
No shadow.

Just air.

Too cold to be normal.

Her hands shook as she got into her car, locking the doors immediately. She sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to get her breathing under control.

"Okay... okay, Freen... you're fine..." she muttered.

She started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. The moment she reached the streets—filled with people, cars, noise—she finally felt able to breathe.

But she didn't notice the black SUV following her, keeping perfect distance, turning every time she turned.

⸻

Thirty minutes later, Freen arrived home. The lights in the living room were warm, giving the whole house a cozy glow. And as soon as she stepped inside—

"Babe?" Rebecca called out from the kitchen.

Freen walked over, forcing a smile. "Hey..."

Rebecca immediately wrapped her arms around her. Freen melted into the hug, burying her face in Rebecca's shoulder. The warmth helped. It grounded her. Rebecca pulled back, cupped her cheeks, and studied her face closely.

"You're pale," she whispered. "What happened?"

Freen didn't answer.
She just shook her head and leaned into Rebecca again.

Rebecca didn't push.
She just held her tighter.

"Let's eat," she finally said. "Then you can shower and rest. I'll stay over."

Freen nodded quietly.

But even as she sat at the dining table, even as Rebecca placed a warm bowl of soup in front of her, even as the comforting smell filled the room—Freen couldn't shake it.

The whisper.

The wrench.

The locked room.

And that chill.

It wasn't a ghost.
She felt that deep in her bones now.
It wasn't supernatural.

It was human.

Human—and dangerous.

Something was wrong.
Something was coming.

And she was finally beginning to understand:

Someone wanted her gone.