Page 21 of Shadowed Obsession

“Oh. I just left her gravesite,” she murmurs, the weight of grief slowing her down. “Brought fresh flowers?—”

“Because it’s Thursday,” we say in unison and share a chuckle.

“Well, I’ll let you go. I love you,” she tells me, and I know it to be true.

“I love you too, Gi,” I respond before disconnecting the call.

Memories of my grandparents flood me as I stare at the beloved plant splayed across my kitchen floor. They weren’t fans of being called grandma and grandpa, which was odd growing up, but we knew better than to argue with them. So, he was our Ace, and she was our Cici, named after celosia flowers. They were her favorite.

Our grandpa always had a bouquet of celosias delivered to her every Thursday. It was even in his will to continue the tradition. Long after she passed, we all took turns replacing her flowers every Thursday, no matter what. It pained me to have to stop that tradition when I left the city. I can only hope to be loved as deeply as she was someday.

Half an hour and one failed attempt of liftingandrepotting the plant later, I’ve officially given up.

I’m so sorry, Cici. I’ll fix this. Or better yet,hewill.

I fire off a text to Scar. Since he wants to be in my damn house, he can make himself useful.

Since you can’t watch your big ass feet, YOU can repot this damn plant.

It’s been in the family for 20 YEARS.

Watch your step OR I won’t miss next time.

Scar

It was an accident and I promise I’ll make it right.

Sure you will.

It better be back to normal by the time I get home.

Scar

You have my word.

Who did I piss off enough to send this man here? It’s the only rationale I have for why he’s stalking me. Especially when I factor in the “family business.” I’m on the cusp of such a big opportunity that I can’t help but feel like he’s meant to be a distraction to divert my attention. Someone wants me to fuck up this deal.

My stomach turns as a thought crosses my mind. My dad is so insistent on sending family members to report on me, it’s possible that he hired someone to do it round the clock instead.

If that is true, killing him could be another one of my fuckups to add to the running list. It’s not like I can just call him up and ask about this man who’s been stalking me. Because if I’m wrong and someone else hired him, history will repeat itself, and I can’t have that on my conscience.

Either way, Scar’s blood will be on my hands, and it won’t matter if I pull a trigger because we’re both fucked.

9/

the stalkee

César

8:30 a.m. | 4 days after ‘the incident’

It doesn’t matter what time I fall asleep, I’m a morning person and have to stick to my daily routine. As much as Ms. Klarke has shaken up my regimen, having me repot that big-ass plant before she got home from work yesterday, I refuse to slack on the tasks that help me maintain my sanity.

I wake up at 5:30 in the morning and meditate before my early gym session. I work out for an hour, come home to shower, have breakfast, and journal before I hit the road.

I’m ready to head out when I hear a car door slam shut outside followed by keys jingling in the doorknob. Judging by the time, Mariana just finished her shift and was too tired for the drive home. She enters my apartment with her shoulders hunched and her eyes already at half-mast. I ignore the blood on her scrubs and reach for her.

“You know I would’ve picked you up,” I remind her, wrapping my arms around her in a hug.

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