Page 45 of Lost to the Woods

She lived alone and had the entire parlor floor unit. The ground level below hers was currently vacant, and the upstairs neighbors seemed to be out for the night. I knew the exact layout of her apartment before I ever stepped inside.

“House tour!”She’d giggled to the camera months ago after picking up the keys, twirling in her new living room like she was inviting the whole world in. “Isn’t it just the coziest?”

Oh, it’s cozy, alright.

No doorman. No security. Not even a guard dog. Nothing that could protect her from me now.

Nate was long gone, and she was in her PJs, watching something on TV, and drinking alone. She was crying, but I really couldn’t care less.

I waited patiently, spying on her through binoculars.

A wine bottle later, she curled up on the couch, pulled a pastel pink throw blanket over herself, and went still. The TV kept playing.

I waited longer.

Half an hour passed, and nothing changed. No phone. No bathroom trip. Just the soft blue light of the screen over her sleeping figure.

That was when I moved. I crossed the street. Quiet, steady. No rush.

Snow dusted the steps, the railings, the dead plants in their cracked ceramic pots. I lifted the third one on the left—just as she’d revealed in that Q&A, laughing about her “emergency key” like a fucking idiot.

She really made it too damn easy.

I wouldn’t call her dumb—she was a smart girl who often played down her intelligence in front of the cameras. But fucking hell, was she naïve. Was she really that ignorant of the dangers lurking for pretty little faces like hers once they stepped away from the screen?

Any one of her crazy fans could have stalked her in real life.

I just happened to be much worse than them all.

And I’d make sure no one could get to her first.

She wasmine—whether she wanted to or not.

The lock turned with a soft click, quieter than a whisper.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of wine and her sugared vanilla lotion. The TV played some stupid rom-com, drowning out her steady breathing.

I entered the living space. My boot creaked, just once, on the hardwood.

She didn’t move.

Two empty wine bottles sat on the coffee table. A third, just cracked open, tipped against the armrest. Nate wasn’t much of a drinker, so she literally had drowned her sorrows.

I stepped closer. And there, on the end table, a little orange bottle caught my eye—cap off, a few pills scattered beside it like candy.

I picked it up.Alprazolam.

Anxiety meds.

Wow, so there is something I didn’t know about you, little bunny,I thought to myself.

For a heartbeat, I wondered why, when… but did it really matter now?

She mixed prescription drugs with alcohol.

I crouched beside her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. I brushed a messy strand of hair from her face. Her luscious lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping.

I shook her—nothing.

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