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I fucking dare you, Walton.

The pulse in my neck jumps. This banter—it’s muscle memory. And thank God, because my actual brain has gone blank at the way his gaze drags across my face for just a second too long.

“I still can’t believe we pulled that off last night,” I say, steering the conversation back to casual. “Total improv.”

His jaw twitches, so quick I almost miss it.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Best performance of your life.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “I wasn’t the one who did the little neck thing.”

“Oh, you liked the neck thing, huh?”

John coughs pointedly, but I catch the smirk he’s trying to hide. The other two junior reps he brought with him look mildly scandalized.

Chase stretches in his seat as if he’s bored, arms folded behind his head, gaze still locked on me. “So, what’s next, a pillow fight for Instagram?”

“I’ll bring the feathers if you bring the fake abs,” I murmur.

My eyes are drawn to where he slowly rubs his palms down his torso. “You think these are fake, baby?”

No, because I’ve dragged my tongue down them.

“I’ve seen Photoshop, Walton.”

He genuinely chuckles this time, finally , and I feel the relief deep in my bones. He’s fine. We’re fine.

Rachel steers the conversation back to the task at hand. “Is there anything else you have questions about, any messages or fan commentary you’ve been tagged in that would help with the campaign?”

“Nah, nothing to report,” says Chase and nods to me. “You, Zo?”

I momentarily consider mentioning the weird-ass comments and DM I received this morning, but as a one-off, I decide to let it slide. If it becomes a thing, I’ll mention it. But for now, it seems like more work for the sake of nothing.

“Nope, nothing.”

John nods and steers the conversation back to upcoming events and media obligations. We both nod along, offer input, say all the right things.

Under the table, Chase’s knee still rests against mine.

And he hasn’t moved it once.

***

My day at work turns into a long one. After the follow-up meeting with Chase and the Storm’s front office, I get pulled into several other meetings for a variety of clients, feeling guilty that their accounts have slipped down my list of priorities due to playing fake tonsil hockey with Chase Walton.

So by the time I decide to call it a night around eight thirty, everyone’s left the office. My skin feels tight and hot from the tension of the day, so I decide to walk home. Maybe the fresh air will settle the static under my skin.

I make my way down the elevator, my heels clicking on the tiles as I head out through the foyer. It’s too quiet when I step outside. Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful or still. The kind that presses in, thick and hollow.

I hesitate for half a second on the sidewalk, fingers tightening around the strap of my purse as I consider ordering an Uber.

But the air is cool and dry, the moon low and blurred behind city haze.

My heels sound loudly against the pavement as I start walking, too noisy in the hush of the street, and I feel the unease of the their sound alerting the world to my exact location.

But I need the air tonight. A few blocks to clear my head, to walk off the way Chase’s voice still echoes in my chest. I thought a little movement might help. Thought I’d stop spiraling if I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

I check my phone. No texts, no new DMs. The screen glows like a taunt in my hand before I shut it off again.

There’s no one behind me, but I check anyway and spot a man across the street. Hoodie up. Hands in his pockets. Not looking at me. Not doing anything wrong. But still…

I keep walking. One block. Then another. The city isn’t asleep, not entirely—there’s the distant buzz of traffic, the soft hum of a neon sign blinking in a restaurant window. But there’s no one else on this stretch of sidewalk, and my footsteps feel like percussion against the silence.

Then I hear it. The sound of footsteps crossing the street behind me. Deliberate and measured. Not rushed, not slow. Just close enough that I feel them in the pit of my stomach before I even turn my head.

My hand slips into my purse, curling around my keys like muscle memory. I slide one between each finger until they bite into my skin. My thumb brushes the slick top of my lip gloss tube, and something in me flashes cold.

“ If you ever need to hit someone, hold something in your fist ,” Dad had told me once. “ It’ll keep your hand from breaking. ”

I’d laughed then, smug in the kind of safety you think is permanent when you’re young. But tonight, that memory slices through me.

I don’t stop walking, but I shift my purse strap higher on my shoulder and lengthen my stride to a determined, don’t-fuck-with-me pace. The rhythm of my heels changes, and somewhere behind me, so does his.

I risk a glance back, and he immediately slows. Keeps his head down. Looks away like he was never watching in the first place.

But I know he was. I can feel it, crawling across the back of my neck like static.

My mouth goes dry, and the block ahead of me feels longer than it should.

My apartment is still six minutes away, which feels too far right now.

I don’t want to pull out my phone again, and I don’t want to stop moving.

I definitely don’t want to run, because my heels would betray me before I made it halfway.

I make a spontaneous decision to take a left. So does he, and my stomach drops.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There’s a break between buildings up ahead, an alley that leads toward the back of a parking lot. I veer toward it like I meant to all along, pretending I know exactly where I’m going. I keep walking until I’m halfway down it, then whip around and press my back against the brick wall.

My pulse is in my throat, my keys are biting into my palm. I fumble for my phone and lift it to check my signal. One bar, maybe. No service bubble, no blue ticks. I try to load the ride app anyway. It won’t connect.

“No fucking way,” I grit out, chest heaving.

Swallowing hard, I step out from the alley and force my face into something resembling calm. Walk like nothing’s wrong, like I’m not seconds from falling apart. I head toward the nearest intersection, scanning the street for headlights, cab lights, anything .

Then I hear it again. The footsteps. Closer this time, and faster.

I don’t look back.

Instead, I pick up my pace and sharply take the next corner, my heart pounding in my throat. I remember there’s a hotel down here. Nothing fancy, just one of those business class ones with a valet stand and, if I’m lucky, a cab or two still lingering by the curb.

My steps pick up and I can hear my breaths sawing out, unsure if it’s from the exertion or the panic or a mix of both. But as I get closer, I see a cab pulling away from the hotel.

I throw my arm up without thinking, waving wildly like every movie I’ve ever mocked. “Hey! Wait!”

The cab slows and I dart toward it, heels biting into the sidewalk as it comes to a stop. I yank the door open and slide inside, breathless.

“Just drive,” I say, voice shaky. “I’ll give you the address in a sec.”

The driver nods, unfazed. Completely unaware of the nightmare I just walked out of. Only when we go to turn the corner do I finally glance back through the rear windshield.

The sidewalk is empty, but that doesn’t mean there’s no longer a threat.

It just means I can’t see it anymore.

***

Charlie opens the door before I can knock twice, barefoot and bundled in one of Jake’s hoodies that still manages to swallow her very pregnant frame.

“Zoe,” she breathes, concern etched on her face as she ushers me inside. “You okay?”

I don’t answer right away. I just step over the threshold, drop my purse onto the side cabinet, and exhale a long breath.

Jake’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. “Who is it?”

“Zoe,” Charlie calls back as she guides me toward the couch, then adds, “Don’t ask questions.”

There’s a chorus of tiny footsteps above us, then the creak of the stairwell. “Mama?” Meadow’s voice calls.

“I’ll tuck her in,” Charlie murmurs, brushing my arm. “You good for a second?”

I nod. I’m not, but I nod anyway.

The house smells of popcorn and lavender baby lotion. A few toys are scattered across the rug, and a half-folded baby onesie sits forgotten on the arm of the couch. It’s so normal, so safe , that the contrast knocks something loose in my chest as I sink down into the sofa.

Jake appears in the doorway a minute later with his arms crossed, wearing athletic shorts and a scowl that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide the soft panic behind it.

“You wanna tell me what happened, or should I guess?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“If Chase—”

“It’s not him,” I cut in. “He’s fine. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Charlie reappears then, sliding onto the couch beside me and shooting Jake a look. He mumbles something about tea and disappears into the kitchen.

She turns back to me gently. “What’s happened, babe?”

I take a breath so deep it scrapes against my ribs. I know I’m not going to get away with dodging her. It’s fucking impossible even when I try, so I come clean.

“Someone followed me home tonight.”

Her eyes widen, mouth dropping slightly.

“What?”

“I mean, I think they did?” My voice feels thin. “I don’t know… Maybe I was just being paranoid. But it felt wrong.”

Charlie pauses, scanning my face before shaking her head gently. “No, Zo. If you’re this shaken, it wasn’t nothing.”

Her saying it out loud settles something in me. I realize it’s relief, and I’ve been waiting for permission to believe it myself.

“I’ve also been getting some weird messages… Since the whole thing with Chase went public.”

Her frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything yet.

“Nothing that bad,” I add quickly. “Just creepy. Vague, you know? Like someone’s watching too closely.”

Charlie’s eyes soften, and she gets that look—the kind that usually comes with unsolicited advice that ends up being right. “You should tell Chase, babe. He’d want to know.”

Before I can answer, Jake’s voice cuts in from the kitchen doorway.

“What would who want to know?”

We both turn to find him standing there with two steaming mugs of tea, eyes fixed on me, already knowing he’s not going to like the answer.

Charlie takes her cup with a quiet thank you, but I don’t reach for mine.

“She was followed home tonight,” Charlie says carefully. “So she came here instead.”

Jake stills. “What?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Really, I—”

“You think someone followed you and you didn’t call Chase?”

“I don’t even know if they did, Jake.”

He lets out a breath through his nose, sharp but not loud. “You came here instead of going home, Zo. That tells me everything I need to know.”

“I just—I didn’t want to be alone.”

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, but instead shakes his head and sets my tea down in front of me.

“It was probably nothing,” I mumble.

Jake crouches a little so he’s closer to eye level, arms resting loosely on his knees. “You don’t get to probably your safety, Zoe. You were scared—that’s enough.”

I glance away as my eyes start to burn.

Charlie leans in and rubs my back in slow circles, her voice soft. “You should tell him. He’ll want to know.”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t want to make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing,” Jake says, gentler this time. “You’re his girlfriend, Zoe. You think he wouldn’t want to know someone’s creeping on you?”

“I don’t want to freak him out,” I reason. “It’s probably just some random fan being weird. He already has enough to deal with.”

“And what if it’s not just some random fan?”

I don’t answer.

Jake stands after a moment and nods his chin toward the stairs. “Guest room’s made up. Sheets are clean. You’re staying here tonight, don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I mutter.

He walks over to the front door, checking the lock again even though I know he already did it when I got here. The thought crosses my mind that he’s doing it for my benefit, that he wants me to see that I’m safe.

“You need to tell him,” he says quietly as he turns toward the stairs.

I wrap my hands around the mug and nod. “I’ll tell him tomorrow, okay?”

He glances over his shoulder at me, face softening as his eyes flit to Charlie and back. “You got it, Zo.”

He disappears up the stairs, leaving Charlie and me alone in the quiet. I exhale and finally take a sip of the tea. It’s sweet and a little too strong, exactly how Jake makes it.

“God,” I mutter, sinking further into the cushions. “Is he always this much of a protective green flag, or did I just get the deluxe guest edition?”

Charlie snorts, curling her legs beneath her and resting a hand on her bump. “That’s just Jake. One part dad mode, one part human security blanket. Especially for people he cares about.”

I shake my head, the corners of my mouth twitching despite everything. “You’d think I was carrying his lineage the way he’s acting.”

Charlie looks at me, warm and a little too knowing. “You do realize you’re dating someone who’d be exactly the same way if he knew.”

“Fake,” I tack on, correcting her. “Fake dating.”

My throat tightens anyway, though, because I know it’s true. Chase would respond the exact same way Jake has. But what he and Charlie have is a real, pure love. And what Chase and I have isn’t. It’s an act.

“Fake dating or not,” she adds softly as if she’s reading my mind, “Chase caring about you is very, very real.”