Page 2 of My Bratva Stalker

I stare at my phone screen, scrolling through my text messages again, hoping—praying—that I somehow missed them the last five times.

But they’re still gone. The messages I sent. The ones I know I should have gotten replies to. They’re just… gone.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry as sand.

Maybe it’s just my phone. A glitch. A weird reset.

But that doesn’t explain why every single guy I’ve tried to date in the last few months has suddenly disappeared. No calls. No texts. No social media. No showing up to work. Just… gone.

My stomach knots. I rub my arms, a shiver racing down my spine. My apartment feels too quiet. Too still.

And then—I hear it. A noise. Soft. Barely there. But inside my apartment.

I freeze, heart slamming into my ribs.

I turn toward the front door.

And my breath stops.

Because I know I locked it. I know I did.

So why the fuck is it… cracked open?

A whimper slips from my lips.

I grip my phone tighter, my pulse pounding so hard it’s all I can hear.

My vision swims for a second, my breath too fast, too sharp, panic clawing up my throat.

I force myself forward, step by terrified step.

The door isn’t wide open. Just barely. Just enough.

Maybe I forgot. Maybe I—

No. I know I locked it. I know I fucking did.

I reach out with a shaking hand, pressing it closed, locking the deadbolt.

It doesn’t help. Because the fact that it was open at all means… someone was here. Someone was in my apartment.

My knees almost give out. My vision tunnels.

I can’t be here anymore.

I fumble for my phone, barely able to see the screen. Dial theonly number that makes sense.

It rings once. Then—

“Marie?” My father’s voice. Deep, familiar. Safe.

I choke on a breath. “Daddy—”

“What’s wrong?” His voice sharpens, instantly on edge.

“I—I think someone’s been in my apartment.” My voice breaks. “There’s something weird with my phone. And the door—” I press a trembling hand over my mouth, shaking so hard my teeth clatter. “It was open. I know I locked it, but—it was open.”

Silence. Then, his voice comes out tight. Low. Terrified. “I’m coming over.”

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