Rhoda stopped taking the same route to work.
She varied streets, timing, even the side of the road she walked on. She checked reflections in windows and learned which cars belonged where. Paranoia sharpened her awareness until it felt like a second skin.
Nothing happened.
That scared her more than if something had.
On the fifth day, she found the envelope.
It waited on her kitchen counter — white, unmarked, perfectly centered. She stared at it from the doorway, heart pounding, mind cataloging impossibilities.
Her door was still locked.
She crossed the room slowly and picked it up.
Inside was a single card.
Tomorrow. 6:30 p.m.
Cedar Line Café.
Come alone.
No signature.
She crushed the card in her fist.
"No," she whispered.
Her phone buzzed immediately.
Unknown Number:
If you don't come, I'll assume you chose the police.
Her throat tightened.
Rhoda:
You said to forget you.
The reply came slower this time.
Unknown Number:
I said you wouldn't.
She sank onto the chair, pulse racing.
Rhoda:
Why?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number:
Because you didn't scream.
Because you hesitated.
Because you're already involved.
She stared at the screen long after it went dark.
Cedar Line Café was crowded — all glass and warm lights, the kind of place that pretended safety through noise. Students, couples, laptops open, laughter spilling over tables.
Rhoda arrived five minutes early and chose a seat near the window.
Her leg wouldn't stop bouncing.
At exactly 6:30, the chair across from her pulled out.
He sat without asking.
He wore a dark leather jacket over nothing but a white v-neck that sat dangerously low. He looked like sin in a cup of coffee. Clean. Ordinary enough that she wouldn't have noticed him if she hadn't been waiting.
Up close, the danger was quieter — not in his size or strength, but in the way his attention narrowed.
"You came," he said.
"I'm not staying," Rhoda replied immediately. "Say what you need to say."
A faint smile ghosted across his mouth.
"You always do that," he said. "Rush. Like speed gives you control."
Her jaw tightened.
"What do you want?"
"To set terms."
She laughed, sharp and humorless. "You broke into my apartment. You don't get to set terms."
"You picked up my wallet," he replied calmly. "You don't get to pretend this started with me."
Silence settled between them, heavy but contained.
He leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving her face.
"You're not in danger right now," he said. "Not here. Not today."
"That's supposed to reassure me?"
"It's supposed to be accurate."
She folded her arms. "Then why am I here?"
"Because you're a liability," he said simply. "And liabilities need management."
Her stomach twisted.
"I won't hurt you," he continued. "I won't threaten you. I won't follow you unless you give me a reason."
"And the reason is?"
"Curiosity," he said, watching her closely. "The same thing that made you pick up the wallet."
Her breath caught — just slightly.
He noticed.
"That's why I'm here," he went on. "Not to scare you. That already happened. I need to know whether you're someone who folds under pressure… or someone who adapts."
She stared at him, something cold and electric threading through her chest.
"And if I go to the police tomorrow?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away.
"That would complicate things," he said finally. "For both of us."
"For you."
"For me," he agreed. "And for the three men who trust me to clean up mistakes."
The weight of that settled hard. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world, a focus so narrow it felt like a physical grip. "My crew wants you erased. They think I'm being soft because I haven't put a bullet in you yet."
"Then why haven't you?"
Evan reached across the table. He didn't grab her; he simply brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek, a gesture so intimate it felt like a brand.
He lowered his voice to a low, seductive drawl. "I want to see if that fire in your eyes stays lit when the lights go out. I'm setting the terms, Rhoda. You stay quiet. You stay in my sight. And in return, I keep the lions away from your door."
"And if I refuse?"
Evan's expression didn't change, but the air around him turned ice-cold. "Then I stop being the one who's protecting you. And trust me, sweetheart, you don't want to meet the version of me that doesn't like you."
He stood up, towering over her. Rhoda exhaled slowly.
"You're not a good man," she said.
"No," he replied. "But I'm a precise one."
Their eyes held — not attraction, but recognition.
"Finish your coffee," he said, standing.
"Midnight. Don't let me come through the window."
She watched him walk away, heart pounding, knowing with terrifying clarity:
This wasn't over.
It was just becoming defined.