Page 44 of Protect my Heart

"Don’t kid yourself, Anika," I tease, stepping just a little closer, enough for her to feel the heat between us. My gaze trails over her flushed cheeks and her pouting lips. "You’re gorgeous no matter what mood you're in—angry, sulking, laughing... although," I tilt my head and lower my voice. "I have to admit, flustered might just be my new favorite."

Anika’s cheeks practically glow. She tries to glare at me, tries to stay mad, but the effort is falling apart. I can see it—the way her lips twitch, the way her eyes dart everywhere except at me.

"I-I'm not flustered!" She stammers, crossing her arms tighter, as if it’ll somehow shield her from me.

I raise an eyebrow, smirking at her desperate attempt to salvage her pride. "Really?" I murmur, taking one slow step closer.

Her eyes widen, and she takes a stumbling step back, bumping into the table behind her. Her body betrays her again—the way she sucks in a sharp breath, the way her hands clutch the edge of the table like she needs something solid to hold onto.

I lean forward just a fraction, letting my arm brush lightly against hers as I pass by, and whisper, "I'm going to the office. Might get late."

Before she can react, I step back and flash her a slow, lazy smile, enjoying the way her face crumbles in embarrassment.

"And Anika..." I lower my voice so only she can hear, "At least don’t lie to yourself."

I lean in close, so close that she has to tilt her head back to look up at me, her pupils blown wide.

"You like having me close, don’t you?" I whisper.

For a beat, she just stares at me, breathless, her body frozen. And then... she gives the tiniest nod. Barely there, but enough. My chest feels like it might burst.

Grinning, I whistle as I walk away, ignoring her yelling my name behind me.

She can be mad all she wants. She admitted it. And right now, that's enough for me.

CHAPTER 27

ANIKA

I’ve been staring at my phone for what feels like forever, reading the message again and again, hoping it’ll somehow make more sense the fifth or sixth time around. My eyes draw back to the message.

Unknown:

Hey sweetheart, remember me?

My heart races, a cold shiver crawling down my spine. My fingers tighten around the phone, but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen. Who the hell is this? I sit back on the couch, feeling a little lightheaded, my mind running wild. How did they even get my number? Why would someone call me "sweetheart" like we’re close? No one close to me calls me that, do they? A million questions rush through my head, none of them bringing any kind of comfort.

Is it someone I know? Some creepy prank? Or... something worse?

I swallow hard, feeling a pit form in my stomach. My skin prickles with unease, and the way they use such an intimate word like "sweetheart" makes me feel sick. I force my fingers tomove, quickly typing a response even though they’re trembling slightly.

Me:

Who is this?

I hit send and stare at the screen, waiting like my life depends on it. The seconds drag by painfully slow. The phone’s dim light is the only thing filling the room, and somehow it just makes everything feel even more eerie.

No reply.

I keep staring anyway, like I’m trying to will a response into existence. Just when I’m about to give up and toss the phone away, another message pops up.

Unknown:

Oh, come on, sweetheart. You haven't forgotten me already, have you? It’s okay; I’ll remind you of everything when we get together.

I freeze, the air around me suddenly feeling too heavy. My stomach twists painfully, like I’ve just been punched. I don’t have a good feeling about this. At all.

I clench my jaw and type back, my hands shaky but my words sharp.