Breaking In

The room went silent when David said "fiancée." 

Like someone hit mute on the entire world. 

200 people. Phones in the air. My crying face still frozen on the screen behind me. 

David stood at the back in a navy suit. Hands in pockets. Smiling like he’d just walked into a dinner party, not crashed my launch. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he said again. Louder this time. “Traffic.”

Ethan got to me first. He stepped in front of me like a wall. 

“Get out,” he said in a low dangerous tone.

David just tilted his head. “Sarah? Aren’t you going to say hi?”

My throat was sandpaper. I could feel everyone staring. Waiting to see if I’d break. If I’d cry again like in the video. 

I didn’t. 

I stepped around Ethan. 

“What do you want, David?” My voice came out steady. I hated that I was proud of that. 

David’s smile widened. “I want to help you. You’re clearly overwhelmed. The press, the company, this...” he gestured to the clothes. “This little project. It’s too much for you.”

“Little project?” Ms. Reyes said from the side. Her voice could cut. “This is a $2 million launch, Mr. Blackham.”

David didn’t look at her. He only looked at me. “Come home, Sarah. We can talk about the shares. About 2023. About us.”

Us. 

The word made my skin crawl. 

“Security,” Ethan said. 

Two guards moved in. 

David held up his hands. “I’m leaving. But Sarah? You’ll get another email tonight. And another tomorrow. Until you come to your senses.”

He turned and walked out. Like he owned the place. 

The second the doors closed, the room exploded. 

Flash. Questions. 

“Sarah, are you okay?” 

“Sarah, is the video real?” 

“Sarah, are you going back to him?”

I couldn’t breathe. 

Ethan grabbed my elbow. “We’re leaving. Now.”

The car ride back was silent. 

I stared at my hands. They weren’t shaking. That was worse. 

My phone wouldn’t stop. 73 new emails. All with the video attached. Sent to every contact I had. 

He’d sent it to my dad’s old board members. To my college friends. To Vanta. 

“Don’t read them,” Ethan said. 

“I already did,” I whispered. 

He reached over and took my phone. Turned it off. 

“We’ll sue,” he said. “Invasion of privacy. Defamation. Harassment.”

“He filmed me in your house,” I said. “How did he get in?”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. “We’ll find out.”

We didn’t talk the rest of the way up. 

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. 

Ms. Reyes was already there with two lawyers. 

“We need to do damage control,” she said. “Statement. Press release. Something.”

“I’m not making a statement,” I said. “I’m not explaining why I cried in my own home.”

“Then we let him win,” one of the lawyers said. 

“No,” I said. “We let S.M. Collections speak. The orders are still coming in. 300 units sold in the last hour. People don’t care about the video. They care about the clothes.”

Ethan looked at me. Proud. “She’s right.”

The lawyers left. Ms. Reyes stayed. 

At 11 PM she finally said, “Go to bed, Sarah. I’ll stay on the couch.”

I nodded. But I didn’t sleep. 

I lay in the guest room and listened to every sound. 

The building settling. 

The AC. 

My own breathing. 

At 2:17 AM I heard it. 

A click. 

Soft. Like a key in a lock. 

My eyes flew open. 

The door to my room was closed. But the handle... it moved. 

Just a fraction. 

My heart stopped. 

“Ms. Reyes?” I whispered. 

No answer. 

The handle turned again. 

Slow. Testing it. 

I sat up. Grabbed the lamp off the nightstand. It was heavy. Glass. 

The door opened. 

An inch. 

Darkness. 

Then a shadow. 

“Who’s there?” My voice shook. 

No answer. 

The door opened wider. 

And David stepped in. 

He was wearing black. Gloves. A mask pulled down around his neck. 

Like he was trying to be quiet. Like he thought I was asleep. 

“David,” I said. The lamp was heavy in my hand. “What are you doing?”

He smiled. “Shh. You’re going to wake everyone.”

“How did you get in?” 

“The same way I always did,” he said.From before.”

Before. 

When I trusted him. 

Ethan’s door opened down the hall. “Sarah?”

David’s eyes flicked to the door. Then back to me. 

“Don’t scream,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then leave,” I said. 

“I can’t,” David said. “Not until you listen. He’s lying to you. About 2023. About everything. I’m the only one who—”

The door flew open. 

Ethan. 

He didn’t say anything. He just moved. 

David turned. But wasn't fast enough.

Ethan grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. 

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Ethan growled. 

David laughed. Even with Ethan’s fist in his shirt. “You think this makes you the good guy? You paid to hide it, Ethan. You paid to erase her.”

“Shut up,” Ethan said. 

Ms. Reyes was there now. And security. 

They pulled David off. He wasn’t fighting. He was still smiling. 

“See you soon, Sarah,” he said as they dragged him out. “You can’t hide forever.”

The door slammed. 

My legs gave out. 

Ethan was in front of me in a second. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“No,” I whispered. “No, he didn’t.”

I was shaking now. Finally. 

Ethan pulled me into his arms. I let him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. But my voice was small. 

We stayed like that until the police came. Until they took my statement. Until they said they’d file charges for breaking and entering. 

At 5 AM the penthouse was empty again. 

Except for me and Ethan and Ms. Reyes. 

“I’m not staying here,” I said. 

“You don’t have to,” Ethan said. “My house. Upstate. Gated. 24/7 security. No one gets in.”

I nodded. I couldn’t think. 

We left at sunrise. 

Blackwood Estate. 2 hours outside the city. 

Gates. Cameras. Guards. 

It should’ve felt safe. 

It didn’t. 

Because David knew where I lived. 

Because David had a key. 

Because David was smiling when they took him away. 

I spent the day in a guest room that was bigger than my old apartment. 

I didn’t sketch. I couldn’t. 

At 7 PM there was a knock. 

Ethan. 

“Dinner,” he said. “If you want.”

I followed him down. 

The dining room was huge. Empty. 

But on the table: one plate. 

Pasta. 

My favorite. 

From 2 years ago. 

The one David used to make on Wednesdays. 

I stopped. 

“Did you—”

“No,” Ethan said. He looked confused. “I didn’t order this.”

The kitchen door opened. 

A server walked in. Young. New. 

“Miss Miller?” she said. “This is for you. From Mr. Blackham.”

The plate hit the floor. 

“Get out,” Ethan barked. 

The girl ran. 

Ethan was on the phone in seconds. “Who let her in? I want her fired. I want—”

I wasn’t listening. 

Because under the plate was a note. 

Folded. 

“You can change cities. You can change locks. You can change men.  

But you can’t change me, Sarah.  

I’m in your head.  

I’m in your home.  

I’m everywhere.”  

-D

I dropped the note. 

Ethan picked it up. His face went wild. 

“How did he know I was bringing you here?” he said. 

“How did he get into the kitchen?” I said. 

We looked at each other. 

And then we heard it. 

From upstairs. 

A window breaking.