Roxxy didn't sleep.
Her room was dark, silent except for the hum of the cheap air conditioner, but her mind replayed the same scene again and again—
Andrew's voice, his eyes, the quiet certainty in his words.
"If I wanted to be inside, a locked door wouldn't stop me."
She curled deeper under her blanket, as if that could block out the memory.
It didn't.
She finally drifted off sometime near dawn, exhaustion dragging her under.
And that's when she heard it.
A soft sound.
A faint creak.
Something that didn't belong in her apartment.
Her eyes flew open.
She stayed still, barely breathing, listening.
Silence.
But she didn't imagine the noise. She knew the difference between fear and instinct—and what she felt wasn't fear.
It was the sense of being observed.
Roxxy slowly sat up, heart pounding in her throat.
Her room looked normal… until she noticed the window.
The curtains were open.
She never left them open.
A chill crawled over her skin. She approached the window, fingers trembling as she pulled the curtain aside.
Nothing outside.
Just the street below.
Just the morning light.
But then she saw it.
On the inside edge of the window frame—barely visible—was a smudge.
A faint fingerprint.
Large. Sharp.
Not hers.
Her knees wobbled.
"No, no, no… he wouldn't—"
A soft vibration cut her off.
Her phone.
She didn't want to look.
Didn't want to see.
But she did.
Unknown Number:
Did you sleep well?
Her breath left her body in a rush.
Another message appeared immediately, as if he knew she was reading.
Or watching.
Andrew:
You should keep your window locked, Roxxy.
A cold, sinking dread spread through her.
Her hands shook so violently she almost dropped the phone.
She typed back with trembling fingers.
Roxxy:
Were you here? Last night?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Stopped.
Then—
Andrew:
I told you.
If I wanted to come in, I could.
But I didn't touch you.
I only watched you sleep.
Roxxy staggered backward, covering her mouth with her hand.
He watched her?
Her body felt hot and cold at once, terror mixing with something she refused to name.
Another message:
You look peaceful when you sleep.
More peaceful than when you run from me.
She sank onto the bed, breath shaky, mind racing. She wanted to scream at him. Tell him to never come near her again.
But her fingers didn't type that.
Instead, she messaged:
Roxxy:
Why are you doing this?
The reply came instantly.
Andrew:
Because you're the first thing in a long time that feels real.
A beat.
And I don't let go of things that matter.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She typed fast, fingers slippery with panic.
Roxxy:
You can't just break into people's homes! That's not normal!
This time he took longer to answer.
When the message arrived, her stomach dropped.
Andrew:
I didn't break anything.
And I didn't come to hurt you.
But someone else might.
You don't lock your windows.
You don't close your curtains.
You trust the world way too much.
A pause.
If I can get in, Roxxy…
so can others.
I'm the safest thing near you.
Her heart hammered so hard it hurt.
Nothing about him was safe.
But the worst part—the part she hated herself for—was that a small, traitorous part of her believed him.
Her phone vibrated one last time.
Andrew:
Get ready for work.
I'll be nearby.
Nearby.
Not "I'll see you."
Not "I'll walk you."
Nearby.
Watching.
Listening.
Always a step in the shadows.
Roxxy pressed her back to the wall, shaking.
Andrew wasn't just following her anymore.
He was already inside her world—
and she didn't know how to get him out.