Page 152 of Love Me Stalk Me
I know exactly what she's doing.
Working up the courage.
Her fingers flex around her phone, loosening,tightening. A deep breath in, then out.
She calls him.
I watch her closely, tracking every micro-expression, every shift in her features. The moment he answers, I see the relief cross her face.
Then, annoyance.
I already know. Evan's being a dick. She's trying to meet up with him. He's making it difficult. But she's pushing through it. She's doing it anyway. And even from here, I can tell she's holding firm.
Another thirty minutes pass. I'm watching the clock, waiting, ready.
"Callahan."
I press a finger to my earpiece. The plastic is cool against my skin. "Yeah."
"Got a guy asking for Russo." It's Ramirez calling from the front of the store.
I knew this was coming.
Through gritted teeth, I force myself to take a slow breath before I speak. Because this is her moment. She needs to do this on her own. Even though every instinct is clawing to intervene.
"Call her. Let her know. Then take him up."
Ramirez confirms and I go back to watching. The security feed shows Evan strutting through the main entrance, chin lifted with his usual arrogance. Ramirez escorts him through the sales floor. They reach her office door, and he hesitates, giving Izzy a silent, questioning look. She responds with a small nod.
Ramirez lingers, reluctant. Then he leaves them alone. I turn on the audio feed, the soft click of the switch echoing in the quiet room. And I listen.
Izzy tells him it's over. She stands her ground without apology or compromise. She refuses to be manipulated by his tactics.
I'm so fucking proud of her, because he's trying. He's doing what men like him always do—twisting words, turning it around, making himself the victim, grasping at any thread of control he has left. But she's not falling for it.
She sees through his manipulation now. The fog has lifted, and she recognizes the toxic patterns that once ensnared her. The strength she's displaying—this quiet, resolute defiance—is beautiful to witness.
But then the atmosphere transforms. I see it before she does. Before she even realizes what's about to happen. It starts small. His shoulders tighten, his hands flex, his whole body coils, winding up like a spring ready to snap. A dangerous energy radiates from him—his posture rigid, his breathing shallow.
I recognize it instantly, because I'veseen it before.
Too many times. I saw it overseas when I was deployed. Saw it in soldiers who felt trapped, their rationality replaced by primal instinct. Combatants who believed violence was their only remaining option. Aggressors whose rage consumed them so completely that it controlled their actions, overriding all reason and restraint.
The warning signs are unmistakable.
I can predict what comes next with terrifying clarity.
I can read the intent in every line of Evan's body before Izzy has any chance to react.
I see it written all over Evan's face— the sheer, unfiltered rage of a man who's about to lose control.
My entire body tenses, my pulse kicking into overdrive.
I need to get to her.
I need to move.
But I already know?—
