Someone Is Watching

The problem with having Damien Cole as your best friend was that he had absolutely no respect for the phrase I'll be fine.

The problem with having him as your fake boyfriend was that he apparently considered every inconvenience in your life a personal emergency.

And the problem with receiving threatening messages at nearly ten at night was that it made arguing with him significantly more difficult.

Especially when he was already banging on your door.

"Ava! Open up!"

I hurried to the door and unlocked it.

Damien stood outside, looking like he'd driven through every red light in the city.

His hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his expression was serious enough to make me forget the sarcastic comment I'd prepared.

"Let me see your phone."

I blinked.

"Hello to you too."

"Ava."

"Damien."

We stared at each other.

Then I sighed and handed him my phone.

He read the messages, his jaw tightening with every line.

"Have you received anything else from this number?"

"No."

"Did you reply?"

"Do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to respond to someone threatening me?"

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

"Don't answer that," I muttered.

He ignored me and examined the messages again.

"This is getting out of hand."

"Yes, I gathered that from the part where someone apparently decided to review my evening activities."

He looked up.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. If they're going to stalk me, the least they could do is pay my rent."

He didn't laugh.

That was when I knew he was genuinely worried.

Damien always joked when things got uncomfortable. It was one of his most irritating habits. He could turn almost anything into a punchline.

But right now, he wasn't trying to make me laugh.

He was trying to figure out whether I was safe.

And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

"Have you told anyone else about these messages?" he asked.

"Just you."

"Okay. Take screenshots and keep the original messages. Don't delete anything."

I nodded.

"We should also tell someone we trust what's happening," he continued. "If it keeps happening, we can get advice from the appropriate authorities."

"You're acting like we're in a crime documentary."

"And you're acting like threatening messages are a normal part of dating."

"Fake dating."

He gave me a look.

"Not the time, Ava."

I raised both hands.

"Fine. Serious face activated."

He shook his head, but I caught the briefest hint of a smile.

Then he looked toward my front window.

"Have you checked whether that car is outside?"

My smile disappeared.

"No."

"Stay here."

"Damien, don't you dare—"

He was already moving toward the window.

I followed him, muttering several things about stubborn men and their inability to mind their business.

He carefully looked through the curtain.

After a moment, he stepped back.

"Nothing."

I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Good."

He turned toward me.

"I'm staying tonight."

I stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

"On the couch."

"Still no."

"Ava."

"Damien."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Someone is sending you threatening messages because of me. I'm not comfortable leaving you alone tonight."

My irritation softened around the edges.

"I appreciate that, but you can't move into my apartment every time something goes wrong."

"I'm not moving in."

"You literally just announced that you're staying."

"For tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll discuss tomorrow when it gets here."

I folded my arms.

"You are exhausting."

"Yet you keep me around."

"Because you've been emotionally blackmailing me with our childhood friendship for seventeen years."

He grinned.

"There she is."

I tried not to smile.

I failed.

"Fine. One night. But you're sleeping on the couch, and if you steal my blanket, our fake relationship is over."

"Heartbreaking."

"And you're buying breakfast."

"Now you're taking advantage of me."

"That's the spirit."

For the first time that evening, he laughed.

And somehow, the sound made my apartment feel a little less frightening.

---

By midnight, we had established three things.

One, Damien was incapable of sitting quietly for more than five minutes.

Two, my couch was apparently designed to punish tall people.

And three, my best friend had the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever.

"Stop pacing," I called from the kitchen.

"I'm not pacing."

"You've walked past that window six times."

"I'm checking the street."

"You're checking the street so aggressively that I'm surprised the street hasn't filed a complaint."

He turned toward me.

"Would you prefer I sit here and do nothing?"

"Yes. Preferably somewhere I can see you."

He paused.

Then he walked over and dropped onto the couch.

"There. Happy?"

"Immensely."

I handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

He accepted it, looking surprised.

"You made me hot chocolate?"

"No. I made it for the imaginary man who respects my furniture. Unfortunately, he isn't here, so you'll have to drink it."

He laughed into his mug.

I settled into the armchair opposite him.

For a while, we sat in comfortable silence.

Then Damien spoke.

"Do you think Zara is behind this?"

I considered the question.

"I think she's the most obvious possibility."

"But?"

"But I don't know for certain. The messages could be from someone else, and I don't want us accusing anyone without evidence."

He nodded slowly.

"That's fair."

"Besides, Zara has already made it clear that she doesn't like our relationship. If she wants to expose us, she doesn't need to send creepy messages. She can simply tell everyone we're pretending."

"She doesn't have proof."

"Then let's make sure she never gets any."

He studied me for a moment.

"You're taking this surprisingly well."

I snorted.

"I'm one more anonymous text away from changing my name and moving to a remote island."

"Can I come?"

"No. You'd annoy the wildlife."

He laughed.

Then his expression grew thoughtful.

"Ava, if this gets worse, we end the arrangement."

I blinked.

"What?"

"The fake dating. If you're genuinely uncomfortable or feel unsafe, we stop. I don't care what Zara thinks anymore."

Something in my chest loosened.

He meant it.

Damien could be ridiculous, dramatic, and occasionally convinced that the universe revolved around him.

But he would never knowingly ask me to put myself in danger just to prove a point to his ex.

I smiled at him.

"Thank you."

He shrugged, suddenly interested in his hot chocolate.

"You're my best friend."

"Obviously. You'd be lost without me."

"Completely."

The answer came so easily that I laughed.

Then I yawned.

Damien pointed toward the hallway.

"Go to bed."

"You're not my father."

"Thank goodness. I wouldn't survive raising you."

I threw a cushion at him.

He caught it.

Of course he did.

"I hate you," I announced.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

I rolled my eyes and disappeared into my bedroom.

Neither of us noticed the notification that appeared on his phone a few minutes later.

Not until much later.

---

Sunday morning began with the smell of burnt toast.

I stumbled into the living room wearing an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, my hair tied into a messy bun.

Damien stood in my kitchen holding a piece of toast that looked like it had survived a house fire.

I stopped.

"What happened?"

He glanced at the toast.

"Breakfast."

"Is breakfast in the room with us?"

He looked offended.

"I made toast."

"You cremated bread."

"Would you like to make your own breakfast?"

I walked past him and peered into the toaster.

Then I looked at the blackened slice.

"Damien, if you ever tell anyone you can cook, I will personally testify against you."

He burst out laughing.

I rescued the remaining bread and started making fresh toast while he leaned against the counter, watching me.

For a few minutes, we were back to normal.

Just two best friends in a kitchen, arguing over breakfast.

No fake relationship.

No jealous ex.

No mysterious messages.

I almost convinced myself the previous night had been a temporary nightmare.

Then Damien's phone rang.

He checked the screen.

His expression changed immediately.

"Who is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

He simply stepped into the living room and picked up.

"Zara."

I couldn't hear her words, but I could hear her raised voice through the phone.

Damien's shoulders stiffened.

"No, Zara. I'm not doing this again."

A pause.

"Because I don't owe you an explanation."

Another pause.

Then, more sharply, "Don't contact Ava."

My hands went still over the kitchen counter.

What?

Damien turned away from me.

"I mean it. Leave her out of this."

He listened for a few more seconds before ending the call.

When he returned to the kitchen, I was waiting.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing important."

I placed the butter knife on the counter.

"Damien."

He sighed.

"She asked whether you were still at my apartment last night."

My stomach tightened.

"How would she know that?"

"I don't know."

"Did she see you come to my apartment?"

"I don't think so."

I stared at him.

"Then how does she know?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe she was guessing."

"That's a terrible guess, Damien."

"I know."

I looked toward the window.

The curtains were open, sunlight spilling across the floor.

For some reason, I suddenly wanted to close them.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?"

"No."

"Did you post anything?"

"No."

"Did you tell one of our friends?"

"No, Ava."

He stepped closer.

"We don't know how she found out. Let's not jump to conclusions."

I nodded, even though my thoughts were already racing.

Someone knew Damien had spent the night here.

Someone knew where we'd gone on our date.

Someone had my phone number.

And someone seemed very interested in what we were doing.

The toast popped up behind me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Damien stared.

I pointed at him.

"Say one word, and I'll end you."

He pressed his lips together.

His shoulders shook.

"You're laughing!"

"I'm not!"

"You are literally vibrating!"

He burst out laughing.

And against my better judgment, I started laughing too.

Because if I didn't laugh, I might start screaming.

---

An hour later, Damien finally left after making me promise to call if anything unusual happened.

I locked the door behind him.

Then I checked my phone.

No new messages.

Good.

I was just about to put it down when a notification appeared.

This time, it wasn't from an unknown number.

It was from Zara Mitchell.

Zara: We need to talk.

I stared at the screen.

Another message arrived.

Zara: Just you and me.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I should have ignored her.

I knew that.

But before I could decide what to do, a third message appeared.

Zara: I know Damien isn't telling you everything.

My stomach twisted.

I typed a reply.

Deleted it.

Typed another.

Deleted that too.

Finally, I sent the only response that made sense.

Me: If you have something to say, say it.

The reply came almost immediately.

Zara: Not over text.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Zara: Meet me tomorrow. Alone. There's something you need to know about your best friend.

I read the words twice.

Then a third time.

My first instinct was to call Damien.

My second was to block Zara.

My third, apparently, was to make the worst possible decision.

Because despite every warning bell ringing in my head, I typed three words.

Me: Where and when?

Her response arrived seconds later.

Zara: I'll send you the details tonight.

I put my phone down.

Then picked it up again.

Then put it down.

"Oh, Ava," I whispered to myself. "You absolute idiot."

Because whatever Zara Mitchell wanted to tell me, I had a feeling it would change something.

I just didn't know what.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the message Damien had received days earlier.

There's something you don't know about Ava.

Now Zara was telling me there was something I didn't know about Damien.

For the first time, I wondered whether we had both been keeping secrets from each other.

And whether our little fake relationship had uncovered something neither of us was prepared to face.