Page 30 of Creeping Lily

LILY

T he air changes before I even realize why.

It’s subtle—just a soft draft that slides across my skin, lifting the fine hairs along my arms—but the effect is instant.

Something in me knows before my eyes do.

The untouched chai in front of me grows cold, its steam long gone, but I barely notice.

My gaze drifts to the café door as the bell chimes, that deceptively delicate sound heralding something I can already feel in my bones.

And then I see him.

My smile dies before it reaches my eyes.

My chest tightens, heart slamming against my ribs so hard it’s almost audible.

For a second, the whole world shrinks until there’s nothing left in it but me—and the man in the doorway.

Everything else, the tables, the customers, the murmur of conversation, fades to paper-thin background noise.

There is no fucking way that my eyes are not deceiving me.

Bentley Walker.

The name is acid in my mouth.

He steps inside with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that sets my teeth on edge, his eyes locked on me as if he’s never lost sight of me—not in three years, not for a moment.

The air between us feels too thick to breathe.

The sound of chairs scraping, cups clinking, even Bethany’s shifting beside me—it all goes hollow, as if we’ve stepped into a separate, sealed-off space where nothing and no one else exists.

He doesn’t glance at Bethany. Doesn’t glance at Amara. Doesn’t even glance at the man behind the counter. There’s no question who he’s here for.

My pulse hammers in my throat, an instinctive, unwelcome reminder of the night he left scars no one could see. The night he became my nightmare.

“What are you doing here?” The words scrape out of me before I can stop them, too quiet for the chaos I feel inside.

He takes a step closer. “Lily.”

It’s soft, too soft—like he’s tasting it, savoring it. Like my name still belongs to him.

Bethany glances between us, brows knitting. She has no idea who the fuck he is, and she’s the one who knows me best. I can feel the questions radiating off her.

I push back from the table so fast the legs of my chair screech against the floor. “I’ll be right back.” The smile I throw Bethany is tight, brittle. She hesitates, but I don’t give her the chance to speak.

I grab Bentley’s arm and drag him outside, ignoring the eyes burning into my back. The moment the café door shuts, I spin on him, every muscle taut. “Why are you here?”

He follows me down the sidewalk, unhurried.

That alone infuriates me. Rage burns hot and bright, scraping at my insides.

I’ve spent years sealing myself away from the stain of this man, building walls high enough to block out the memory of his hands, his voice, the betrayal that night.

And now here he is, as if he’s earned the right to stand this close to me again.

“I came to see you,” he says, voice low .

The sound of it is wrong. Too deep. Too familiar. Too dangerous.

“Obviously. But why?” I snap. “Why now? Why are you showing up now after all this time, as though nothing happened?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “After all this time,” he repeats, like the words are supposed to mean something to me.

Three years. Three years of silence. Three years of me clawing my way out of the pit he helped throw me into. And now he’s wearing a suit, his hair in artful disarray, like some leading man in a movie I never agreed to be in.

But this isn’t a reunion scene. This is a reckoning.

He didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood. I know it. And somewhere deep inside, a colder thought seeps in—my stalker’s warning, the cryptic mention of a “visitor.” Was this who he meant? Was Bentley the threat walking toward me all along? And how the hell would he even know that?

“How did you even find me?”

“I’ve always known where you were.”

My stomach twists. How? We’ve had no contact. No mutual friends. No reason. Unless… unless he’s been watching. Unless someone’s been telling him. Unless there’s more to the warning than I realized.

“Why now?”

His mouth tightens, hands slipping into his pockets. “Penance,” he says finally. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, Lily. About that night.”

The words crack something in me, but not the way he wants.

“There’s no penance big enough to erase what you did to me,” I bite out. “No apology that gives me back what I lost.”

“I’ve regretted it every day,” he says, like that’s enough. Like regret is currency that can buy back the pieces of me he helped shatter .

I take a step closer, my voice dropping to something sharp and cold. “You were my friend before you were my monster, Bentley. And some things—” I lean in until I can see my reflection in his eyes “—are unforgivable.”

Something flickers in his gaze. Not guilt. Something darker. Something that says he doesn’t like the reminder that I once trusted him.

He swallows, looks away, but the damage is done.

“You didn’t need to come here to tell me this,” I say.

“No,” he admits. “But I needed you to hear it.”

Behind us, through the café window, I catch a glimpse of Kade approaching. My safety net. My reminder that Bentley isn’t the only one who can play this game. I lift my hand just enough to wave him off, even as every instinct in me screams to let him intervene.

Because if Bentley is the visitor my stalker warned me about…I need to know how he’s connected to my stalker, and what the hell he’s doing here.

“Lily?”

The sound of my name cuts through the taut air like a blade.

Justin rounds the corner, his stride steady, but his eyes…

his eyes are sharp, scanning the scene in front of him.

He stops just a few feet away from Bentley and me, gaze flicking between us as if he’s measuring something invisible—distance, tension, danger.

I wasn’t expecting him today, and the realization lands heavy in my chest: someone from the coffee shop must have seen Bentley walk in and called him.

Justin steps closer, and the move feels both protective and territorial.

Without breaking eye contact with Bentley, he threads an arm around my waist, drawing me into the solid heat of his side.

His lips brush my temple, a casual gesture for anyone watching—but I can feel the way his body locks tight against mine.

His attention stays pinned on Bentley, curiosity sharpening into suspicion.

“Who’s this?” His tone is easy enough, but it’s threaded with steel.

My mouth goes dry. I actually stutter, waving my hand between them like I can smooth the edges with a pathetic little gesture. Heat creeps up my neck until I’m sure my skin is glowing red.

“Ahhh… this is Bentley Walker. He’s… a family friend.”

“Family friend,” Justin repeats, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying the words on for size and doesn’t like the fit. His eyes stay on Bentley, assessing, before they cut back to me. “Funny. You’ve never mentioned him before.”

I glance toward Bentley, silently begging him to throw me a lifeline, but all I get is the faint gleam of amusement in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.

“You must be the boyfriend,” Bentley says, holding out a hand. His voice is smooth, but there’s something underneath it—something that feels like a test.

Justin doesn’t take the hand. He just stares, a cold, unblinking look that says more than any handshake could. They stand like that, the air thick with whatever’s passing between them, and I suddenly feel like the unwilling centerpiece of some silent duel.

“Okayyy,” I draw the word out, stepping between them and raising my hands as if I can physically cut the tension in half. “That’s enough testosterone for one afternoon.” I turn to Justin. “Why don’t you go inside and order our coffees?”

His jaw works, but he finally steps away, brushing past Bentley with deliberate slowness before disappearing into the café .

Bentley waits until Justin is out of earshot before speaking. “I’m in town for a few days.” He pulls out his phone. “Here’s my number.”

My phone buzzes with a text before I can even process the words. I glance down, and my stomach dips when I see his name already saved—though I never put it there.

“How do you even know my number?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Not important.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t intend to explain. “That’s my number. Use it.”

I’m still gaping at him when he turns away, heading toward a sleek black town car parked up the street.

A chauffeur in a tailored suit steps forward to open the door.

Bentley doesn’t look back before sliding inside.

The car pulls away, and I’m left staring after it, my pulse an uneven rhythm.

He’s a ghost online, a shadow from my past—so what the hell has he become in the years since I last saw him?

“I thought you were busy this afternoon,” I say as Justin returns, a paper cup in each hand. His timing feels too perfect to be coincidence.

“I was,” he says, eyes scanning the street, though not looking directly at me.

“Then why come to the coffee shop?”

He exhales hard, like the question itself is an accusation. His gaze shifts back to mine, lazy on the surface but watchful beneath. “I don’t know what to make of all the secrets you’re keeping, Lily.”

The words land heavy, but not because they’re wrong. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I want to tell him everything—every ugly truth I’ve been hoarding like dangerous contraband. But the truth would break things I can’t fix.

“Everyone has secrets, Justin,” I say softly. “Even you. Don’t tell me you don’t. ”

Something flickers in his eyes, and I watch his throat work as he swallows down whatever answer was ready to spill. And in that pause—on this busy street with coffee cooling in my hands—I see it. The truth he won’t share with me. The one that sits between us like a live wire.

That Justin is holding back the biggest secret between us.