Page 110 of You Were Always Mine
The glow burns against the dark room. Three missed calls. Six new messages.
You’re not answering me, Scarlett.
You think you can ignore me?
You think I don’t know where you are?
My stomach twists. I press the phone face-down, like that can kill the words, but it only makes the silence heavier. Then it buzzes again.
You belong to me. Stophiding.
The walls feel closer. My hands are shaking, and my throat is too tight to breathe properly. He used to be safe. He used to be my friend. And now—now he’s this voice bleeding out of the screen, demanding, claiming, choking me.
I curl tighter into the sheets, praying Kai doesn’t wake, because if he sees this—if he knows—I don’t know what he’ll do.
Another message lights the screen.
Open the door.
I freeze. The words don’t feel like texts. They feel like footsteps already on the porch.
Another buzz.
Open the door.
A knock follows it. Not polite. Not patient. A sharp, rattling pound that makes the glass in the picture frames tremble.
I jolt upright, my breath scraping the back of my throat. No. He’s not here. He can’t be here.
The pounding comes again—harder this time. My phone vibrates in the same rhythm.
I know you’re awake.
I scramble off the bed, my legs shaking, every shadow in the hallway stretching too long as I creep towards the stairs. Through the frosted pane of the front door, I see him—a dark shape on the porch, shoulders hunched, phone still glowing in his hand as if he’s already inside my veins.
“Scarlett,” he calls, low, taunting, like he owns the night. “Don’t make me keep knocking.”
I flinch back into the shadows. My phone buzzes again.
If you don’t open this door, I’ll make sure you fucking regret making me wait
The air rips out of me. My whole body rattles like the door under his fists.
Upstairs, the floor creaks.
Kai.
The pounding jolts again, and I nearly scream—only it isn’t the door that shakes this time. It’s the floorboards above. Heavy steps. Furious steps.
“Kai,” I whisper, but too late.
He’s already thundering down the stairs, half-dressed, jaw locked, eyes feral—the kind of storm you can feel in your teeth before it splits the sky.
He doesn’t ask what’s happening. He doesn’t look at me. He rips the deadbolt back, yanks the door wide—and there’s Tyler, smirking like he’s just won.
“Wrong fucking house,” Kai growls, voice low and lethal.
Tyler shifts, swagger barely intact, phone still lit in his hand. “She invited me.”
