Page 40

Valeria

I brought Zara to school, acting like nothing serious happened.

Yet my girl was too clever and observant.

It wasn't hard for her to understand that a crime had occurred in our building, but thankfully, she didn't see anything.

She already had trouble sleeping. Seeing George's body would be devastating for her fragile mind.

We spent the ride to her school talking about Pikachu and the movie she wanted to see.

I was grateful for her chirping because it successfully dragged me from musing about the frightening corpse.

However, everything went down on me with full force when I changed into my gym clothes and turned on the treadmill.

My feelings and thoughts were swirling. The gym was almost empty in the morning. Only one bodybuilder lifted weights, not paying attention to me. So when the tears fell from my eyes, I didn't bother to wipe them. They ran freely down my cheeks, washing out the dread, fear, and disgust from my body.

It was such a horrifying, atrocious experience to see death from up close.

My parents died when I was a teenager. Given the circumstances of their demise, when their car was hit by a train, the police didn't allow me to see them for the last time.

Their bodies were destroyed, and I said goodbye only to their coffins and photos.

But this morning, death stared at me from George's lifeless eyes. It watched me through him, marking my soul with his blood. First, Adam Rivers and his family died because of me, and today, the list had gained another name .

For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling I was responsible for his violent death.

Maybe it was because of the flower pinned to his shirt.

Or perhaps it was because of his indirect threats to me and Zyon.

I didn't know what caused this heavy feeling to gnaw my insides, but it was there.

Guilt held me prisoner in its tight embrace, refusing to let go.

Picking up speed on the treadmill, I tried to shake away this morning's events, but it wasn't possible.

An image of Geroge's empty eyes and cut-off tongue was imprinted into my brain.

It was everywhere I looked. No matter how hard I pushed it away, it was there, floating at the edge of my consciousness.

Nothing helped me to ease the ache in my chest. I thought about my job, family, and boss's upcoming birthday party, but all those things were connected to George. Eventually, I caught myself drowning in paranoid scenarios about my husband being the next one hanging from someone's window.

Chester's words about Malin were another thing that haunted me. He mumbled something about his handwriting. But what did he mean? My husband was scared like a chicken, yet it could only be a reaction to the body behind our window. Maybe it didn't have anything in common with the Zhumagulovs?

Still, Chester's behavior was outrageous.

He served me to the police like I was a murderer.

I knew him well enough to notice how agitated and scared he was because of their questions.

It made me wonder if his meeting with the mysterious man next to the pretzel stall yesterday wasn't part of something bigger.

Perhaps Chester's fear wasn't from George's murder.

Maybe he was nervous about the police or Zhumagulovs finding out about his plans.

I had no idea what he was doing when he was out, but I would bet my last dollar that it was illegal.

An incoming text tore apart the thin thread of my thoughts. I didn't realize I was speeding on the treadmill like a lunatic, pushing myself to my limit. Sweat dripped from my forehead and temples, and my legs burned. I panted, slowing down to walk so I could read the message.

Unknown Number : Your ass looks like a juicy peach in those tight leggings. I'm dying to taste it.

One quick look around told me he wasn't anywhere near because only me and two other ladies were in the spacious room. But there was a camera pointed right at me, and the other was behind me. He’d surely hacked them to stalk me. I was getting better at uncovering his tricks.

Valeria : Did you kill George and hang him before my bedroom window?

He let me wait for his response, so when it finally came, I placed my phone on the bench and began to stretch.

My ass was pointed directly at the camera, and I did all exercises that came to my mind just to make him suffer a little more.

While I worked out, two more texts came, forcing a victorious smile on my face.

Unknown Number : You definitely know how to kill the mood, mon c?ur.

Unknown Number : I'm sure, Valeria, I will want you to spread your legs like this soon.

Unknown Number : That’s enough of a show unless you don't want me to blind those two teenagers who can't stop staring at you.

An inappropriate giggle slipped past my lips, instantly making me realize my stalker had turned to violence at the first possible moment.

Memories attacked me with a crushing force, reminding me he was probably a killer.

He didn't have a problem with kidnapping me.

He broke into my apartment multiple times.

I shouldn't be surprised that he was capable of murder, but it almost knocked me off my feet.

The black dahlia he gifted to me danced before my eyes.

The beautiful flower I took as a sign of his affection turned into a stain on our unhealthy relationship.

I crossed every line with him. I lied, cheated, and ignored all the red flags, but this was too much.

A man was killed! I couldn't tolerate it.

Without responding, I turned off my phone and ran to the locker room. A scream climbed up my throat, and an invisible rope squeezed my chest. Yet people were around, so I couldn't show how I really felt. I disappeared into the shower, letting tears of helplessness fall .

I was disgusted by myself for feeling so broken by the realization my stalker was a criminal. I was naive to believe there could be more between us than this charade. I was stupid enough to imagine a fucking fairytale just to escape an abusive marriage and husband.

How pathetic was I?

A man stalked me, kidnapped me, and turned my world upside down. His behavior made me think that my boss, a ruthless, merciless mafia don who played a leading role in my fantasies, was hidden under the mask. My imagination went wild to get me where—to the dead body hanging before my window.

It was insane, but on the other hand, the last couple of months made me feel alive and desired. It opened the door to new adventures. Somehow, even trapped like a mouse in the deep hole with a cat, I was free.

Water often helped me erase the imaginary dirt I felt on myself, but it was useless this time. There was too much blood on my hands and too much mud under my nails. If I stayed in contact with Zefarin, I would drown in it.

But could I let him go?

I already tried it when I returned to Chester, and it lasted only a few days.

I missed him so much that I threw away my dignity and texted him.

I wanted him by my side, no matter who he was or what he had done.

What did it say about me? Was my moral compass so broken that I didn't find it repulsive to sleep with a criminal?

"Fuck," I breathed, resting my forehead against the cold glass wall. "I'm heading for a mental breakdown."

Exiting the shower, I shook with my arms and bounced on my feet, inhaling and exhaling in an even rhythm. Then I splashed icy water on my face, feeling goosebumps on my skin.

I had to get out of this nightmare I brought on myself.

The situation around me was terrible, yet my brain was making it worse.

I was confused and panicking, but overreacting never helped.

I had to keep my thinking straight. Whether it was my stalker or Zhumagulovs who murdered George, it wasn't my fault.

It was their doing, their decision, and the blood was on their hands. Period.

I got into my car, feeling a little better.

My body was exhausted, and my mind was tired from the constant thinking.

I mused about grabbing a light lunch and preparing for work when I caught movement in the rearview mirror.

I abruptly turned around, finding my stalker sitting at the center of the back seat with his arms crossed over his chest and his white eyes piercing my skull.

He was dressed in his usual black attire with a mask covering his face, but the energy he was emitting was different. He was angry.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, feeling my heart somewhere in my throat. I had my keys in the gym and was sure I had locked the car. How he got inside was beyond my understanding.

"You didn't answer my texts," he replied in a low voice, making it sound like a growl. I felt my treacherous pussy clench, and my heartbeat increased. The effect he had on me was immense.

"And?" I lifted a challenging brow, knowing too well I was playing with fire. "You didn't answer my question either."

"Yes," he whispered, letting his arms fall and placing them on his knees. His eyes never left my face when he leaned closer. "I killed George Harrow." His breath fanned my cheek; he was so close that he could kiss me if he wasn’t wearing a mask. "Did you find it romantic?"

"What?" I breathed, the space of the car shrinking around me. All I saw were Zefarin's devious eyes, staring at me with pride. There was no remorse, no guilt, just pure satisfaction swirling in them. "I find it insane! Why would you do it?"

"He was a threat to you, mon c?ur," he replied matter-of-factly, trying to place his gloved hand on my cheek, but I flinched my head away from his reach. I was shocked by his confession, but what stunned me the most was the ease with which he talked about it.

"You murdered a man because of me?" I asked, horrified to the bones.

A simple "yes" left his lips, making me dizzy. I covered my mouth with my hand, the tears welling in my eyes. The wall I built around my heart in the gym was ineffective. He destroyed it with a simple confirmation. I was the reason for George's violent death.

"Valeria, are you okay?"

Zefarin's concerned voice reached my ears, but I was too far away. My world collapsed. Nothing would be the same anymore .

I closed my eyes, feeling nauseous. The last remaining strength to fight the panic growing in my chest left me.

Desperation, fright, and agony mixed in me, creating a tornado that I was unable to handle. It paralyzed me, and eventually, it turned me off. I became oblivious to the outside world. All I could think about was George's mutilated body hanging before my window.

It was all my fault.