Page 45 of The Invite
“It’s the season of The Massacre,” I cut her off. “Everything written on them was vague and pointed to nothing.”
The little Scarlett from that night stares back at me and I hate the sight of it. It twists my insides. Ever so low, she murmurs, “A prank then?”
“Yes. I’ll find out who is behind it and ease your mind. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Did you eat dinner?” I ask her as a distraction.
“No. I didn’t get a chance to.”
“I didn’t either. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”
“We can eat and you can tell me how the heck you agreed to a suspension,” she teases. “Don’t tell me Miss Davenport scared you.”
Quite the opposite.
If only I could tell Scarlett. I’m not one to keep secrets from her and eventually, she will find out. But for now, I want to have Nessa all to myself.
CHAPTER – 13
Nessa
He lied!
I should’ve known. After his fake scare last night, I’m even more furious at myself for dreamily watching his videos for hours. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have accidentally saved one and could’ve avoided the aftermath.
Unless there’s pitch-black darkness, I cannot sleep and yesterday, I kept the lights on to be on guard if he sneaked into my house again. Little did I know it was one of his favorite mind games. I barely got any sleep and whatever I did, it was in the early hours of the dawn when my eyelids couldn’t stay open any longer.
I finally understand why the devil has a bad reputation.
He is a sinful, cunning, untrustworthy, and manipulative entity with a favorite pastime of ruining innocent lives.
People warn you to never make a deal with the devil. But what about when he forces you into marrying him at his altar of cruelty? Because it’s what he’s done to me.
He’s tied me to him and I keep getting tangled in his web deeper and tighter.
A sharp knock at my door jolts me out of my thoughts.
It must be the locksmith. After waking up in the morning, the first thing I did was call a guy, whose information I found online, to change my locks to a better one for extra protection.
It’s one in the afternoon as I get up from the couch and approach the front of the house. I look through the peephole to check it’s him before unlocking and opening the door.
“Hello,” I greet. “Are you Hans?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he confirms with a friendly smile. He’s a middle-aged bald man, old enough to be my father, and holds up his toolbox to further confirm his identity.
“Please come in.” I shift to the side to let him pass. “Would you like some water?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Let me bring you a glass.”
I quickly go into the kitchen, fill a glass, and return to him with it. He takes it after mumbling a thanks and gulps it down in one go. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he nods at me.
“I’m ready to work.” We approach the front door again and he surveys the lock. “Yeah, this can be easily tricked. Not safe if you live alone.”
Tell me about it.
