Chapter Ten: A Lesson in Dark Romantics

Anastasia Greene Johnson

“That was such a good film, wasn’t it? I liked the second male lead more, though. He was gorgeous—practically perfect. Honestly, he should’ve ended up with the girl.” Brynn whined, peering over the rim of her wine glass.

  We weren’t exactly dining somewhere posh. It was a decent little restaurant, nothing extravagant, but pleasant enough for an evening out with friends.

“You cannot be serious. Are we conveniently forgetting that he was practically a psychopath who murdered several people throughout the film?” I said, staring at her in disbelief.

“Oh, come on. He only did it for his girl. And don’t forget, he sent her flowers anonymously. Isn’t that really sweet?” she squealed.

“No. That’s creepy, and frankly, it deserves a restraining order and a lengthy stay behind bars,” I said flatly.

  Brynn’s expression fell. “You’re no fun, you know that? These tropes are massive nowadays. You know—the I’d-burn-the-world-to-ashes-for-you sort of man who’s terrifying to everyone else but turns into a sweetheart around his girl? I love reading those books. You should try them sometime.”

  Of course she’d say that. Bad boys were practically her literary kryptonite. And besides, she’d never actually experienced that sort of love.

  But I knew what that kind of love could cost. I’d felt it. Lived it. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

  I sighed, shaking my head as I dug my spoon into the delicious steak.

“I wonder what Nick would think if he heard you saying all this. Has he seen those dog-eared books of yours?” I asked teasingly.

“He has. Called me insane for reading them.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, who gives a shit what he thinks? Screw him.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know. I’m just glad to hear he’s sane. Someone needs to be, considering my crazy best friend is in his hands.”

  Brynn rolled her eyes again before pouring herself another glass of wine.

  That looked like trouble waiting to happen.

“Um. . . don’t you think you’ve had enough? That’s your third glass.” I eyed her warily.

  She glanced at me without a hint of concern and smiled. “Relax. My tolerance is high.”

  Right. It was.

  But that didn’t mean getting her home late at night while she was three sheets to the wind would be remotely convenient.

“I know. But still—”

“Want one?” she offered, completely bulldozing over my concern.

“No. You know I’m a complete lightweight. And you shouldn’t have another one either.”

“Oh, come on. Ruslan isn’t home tonight. It’s not like anyone’s going to care if you stumble through the door drunk.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that we still have work tomorrow. And I’d quite like to wake up in the morning without a headache splitting my skull in two.”

  Brynn twisted her lips into a pout. “Fine, Mom. You do realise people can actually tell you’re a mother, right?”

  I smiled warmly. “A proud one.”

  Eventually, the bill arrived, and, as always, Brynn and I turned paying it into a miniature battlefield before finally settling on splitting it fifty-fifty.

  A few minutes later, she excused herself to the washroom, leaving me waiting in the lounge.

  That was when my phone buzzed.

  An unknown number.

‘Hope you like the gift I sent❤️’

  I stared at the message for several seconds, wondering whether it was some elaborate scam. There was no suspicious link, no attachment—nothing obvious enough to set off the usual alarm bells.

“Hey, let’s go.” Brynn appeared from the washroom, slipping her bag over her shoulder.

  I showed her the message. She immediately grinned.

“Oooh! Isn’t this interesting? Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer.” Her eyes lit up. “It’s just like the movie!”

  I didn’t find it remotely amusing.

“Stop, Brynn. It’s not funny. What if someone’s stalking me?”

  My stomach had begun to knot itself into something unpleasant.

  The last thing I wanted was to arrive home and discover some anonymous creep had left a ‘gift’ outside my door. Who even texts someone like this? And how the heck did they get my number?

“Hey, come on. I was kidding, Ana. Don’t look so terrified.” Brynn patted my shoulder when she noticed the colour draining from my face. “It’s probably just a scam. They scare you into replying, then send you some dodgy link and empty your bank account when you click it. So don’t do anything. Just ignore it.”

  I considered her explanation for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Right. It’s just a scam.”

__________________________________________________________________________

  It wasn’t a scam.

  A bouquet.

  A huge bouquet of daisies was sitting outside my apartment door, accompanied by a small box wrapped neatly with a ribbon.

  My entire body went rigid. I couldn’t simply pretend I hadn’t seen it and walk inside.

  No.

  No, no.

  This can’t be happening. There’s no way someone sent me my favourite flowers.

  How did they even know? Am I actually being stalked?

  I glanced around cautiously, searching the shadows for movement, for a figure watching from somewhere nearby. But the corridor was eerily quiet.

“No. . . this isn’t good.” My voice barely rose above a whisper. “I should call the cops. The security cameras would’ve caught whoever left it.”

  My fingers were already dialling 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice answered.

“H-hello,” my throat felt tight. “I think I’m being stalked.”

“Did you see the person’s face?”

“N-no, actually. . .” I swallowed. I had absolutely no idea how to explain this without making myself sound completely unhinged. “A while ago, I received a text from an unknown number saying, ‘Hope you like the gift I sent.’ And now someone has left flowers outside my door. I—I don’t know what to do. What if I’m being watched right now?”

“Okay, ma’am, I understand. Please try to remain calm. We’re tracking your location, so there’s no need to panic.”

  Easy for her to say.

  It was rather difficult to keep calm when the possibility of being murdered was hovering over your shoulder like a storm cloud.

“Can you give us the number you received the message from?”

“Y-yeah. Just a second.”

  I read the number out to her.

“This is a UK-based number. Do you know anyone from the UK, ma’am?”

  I frowned, a bad feeling already settling inside my chest. The UK?

“I. . . well, yes.” I hesitated. “I used to live there a few years ago.”

“Well, then, is it possible someone you know sent it? Can you check whether there’s a card or note attached to the flowers?”

  My heart nearly stopped.

  They wanted me to touch it?

  What if there’s some sort of narcotic hidden inside? What if I inhale something and passe out? They’ll kidnap me!

  Worse—

  What if there’s a bomb?

“Ma’am?”

  The voice on the other end snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts.

“Uh. . . yeah. Let me check.”

  I stood there for precisely five seconds before forcing myself to pick up the bouquet. It was heavier than it looked—about a kilogram, perhaps. And yes. There was a card tucked among the flowers.

  But the moment I saw the handwriting, the blood drained from my face.

  I knew it.

  That handwriting.

  It dragged something buried deep inside me back into the light—something I had spent years trying to outrun.

  The past. The demons. The memories I had convinced myself were finally dead and buried.

  But no matter how far I ran, some ghosts knew exactly how to find me.

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