Chapter Eleven: Para Mi Señorita

Anastasia Greene Johnson

‘Dear Señorita,

Happy sixth wedding anniversary, mi amor. We’ve come a long way together, though the last three years without you have been nothing less than hell for me. I have to soothe my loneliness watching you from afar.

I hope you’re doing well. I know you are, apart from that soul-sucking job of yours. Our Ruslan’s grown so much as well. I saw him outside his school yesterday. He’s become such a handsome boy. I wish you both missed me half as much as I miss you.

Since you still refuse to see me or contact me, I thought I’d send you a little anniversary present this time—a reminder that you’re still mine.

You always will be.

And I promise you—one day, I’ll reclaim you. Probably sooner than you think.

Love you more than anything and anyone in this entire world.

Your Romeo and psychotic husband (as you love to call me),

E.’

I stared at the card for what felt like an eternity, my eyes lingering on the final line. Especially the name.

“Hello? Ma’am? Are you there?” The telecommunicator’s voice drifted faintly through my phone.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My entire body was ice-cold. I was trembling too badly.

There’s no way.

There’s absolutely no way he could have reached out to me like this after all these years, could there?

I’m losing my mind. This has to be some sick joke. Someone playing a cruel prank.

But it wasn’t. The proof was sitting right there in my hands. Because there was only one person in the entire world who called me ‘Señorita’.

I quickly checked the date on my phone, it confirmed that it really was that cursed day—the day I made the biggest mistake of my life by marrying a complete psychopath. And I hated myself for still remembering it.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?” The telecommunicator sounded increasingly concerned when I remained silent. “We can dispatch officers to your location if—”

“I’m fine.” The words finally scraped their way out of my throat. “There was a note. And. . . it’s from someone I know. So, uh. . . there’s no need to worry. Thank you for your assistance. Goodnight.”

I ended the call before she could ask anything else. For several moments, I simply stood there, staring at my front door as though it might suddenly open by itself.

Then I bent down, picked up the little box from the floor and opened it. Inside was a delicate bracelet adorned with small diamonds—expensive enough to make my stomach turn.

But it wasn’t the diamonds that made my jaw clench. It was the engraving on the bangle.

‘Para mi Señorita. (For my Señorita.)’

My fingers tightened around the box.

He’s playing with my head.

Of course he sent this. He thinks he can buy his way back into my life with flowers and diamonds. The note makes it perfectly clear—he still wants to control me.

He even mentioned my job.

Again.

I crumpled the note into a ball and hurled it towards the bin at the far end of the corridor. The bouquet followed soon after.

Then I immediately blocked the number he’d used to contact me.

As for the bracelet. . . I’d have to find a way to return it. Perhaps Natalie could help.

__________________________________________________________________________

The moment I stepped out of the bathroom, my phone began buzzing relentlessly.

Message after message. From an unknown number. A different one this time.

‘You threw the bouquet in the bin? 💔’

‘Did you not like it?’

‘Sorry. I should’ve got you a bigger one. I’ll send it next time with a necklace.’

‘On your birthday. With my name engraved on it. Because you look the prettiest when you’re branded by me.’

‘Glad you liked the bracelet, at least❤️’

My heart practically performed an Olympic-level vault inside my chest. Winter was still months away. I’d only just stepped out of a warm shower, yet goosebumps erupted across my skin. Cold sweat prickled my forehead.

I rushed outside and yanked the front door open.

But—

There was no one. The corridor was empty. And the bouquet I’d thrown into the bin was gone.

No.

Not this again.

He’s stalking me again.

No. He’s been doing this for three years. Three friggin’ years. Even after I told him, repeatedly, that I wasn’t going back.

My hands curled into fists.

I have to do something.

I can’t let him terrorize me like this again.

I slammed the door shut, fury simmering behind my teeth, then dropped onto the couch and began typing with enough force to make the keys rattle.

‘If you don’t stop this, I’m going to report you.’

I never imagined I’d have to speak to him again after all these years. Yet here I was. Doing exactly that. Reluctantly.

His response arrived almost instantly.

‘Fine. Do it.’

‘At least I’ll get to face you directly in court.’

The sheer insanity of this man left me speechless. But unfortunately, I knew exactly where to strike.

‘All right. I’ll send you the divorce papers, then. Let’s take this to court and end this charade once and for all.’

Just as I’d expected—

Silence.

His ego had been bruised, knowing I wasn’t the helpless woman that had left him in that stormy night, that I could make extreme choices on my own now.

I smirked, ready to block the number again, when the typing bubble suddenly appeared.

What now?

What is he going to say this time?

Will he finally agree?

Will he finally let me go?

That fragile little flicker of hope died almost as quickly as it had appeared.

His replies came one after another.

‘How sweet.’

‘You must be exhausted if you’re saying things like this tonight. That evening out with your dear friend must have taken it out of you.’

‘Go to sleep, Señorita, and dream a little more about divorce. Perhaps my death will come soon and finally free you from me.’

‘Because divorce isn’t happening in this lifetime.’

‘Every time you send me those cursed papers, I’ll tear them to pieces and send them straight back. Or perhaps I’ll send you the ashes.’

‘Goodnight, Señorita.’

‘See you soon.’

I stared at the screen for a full ten seconds. Especially the last line.

See you soon?

My stomach dropped.

What the hell does he mean by that? And how did he see Ruslan? Is he actually here now?

I immediately typed a reply. Then waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Nothing.

I tried calling the number. It didn’t exist anymore. Of course it didn’t.

This crazy. . . genius. . . bastard.

I threw myself back against the couch, my entire body trembling with an ugly cocktail of rage and fear.

He’d said goodnight as though he were ending an ordinary conversation. But he’d slipped one final threat between the lines—a little time bomb designed to keep me awake for the next several nights.

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