Stalker again

The door to the mansion opened just then.

Ariana stormed out, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on even though the sun was down.

She yanked open the passenger door instead of the back one this time and slid in, crossing her legs and folding her arms with theatrical irritation.

“You’re still here?” she muttered.

“I said I’d wait,” Liam replied smoothly.

She gave him a side glance. “What are you, a robot?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he placed his hand on the ignition.

She tilted her head at him and said, “You know you’re not any better than me, right? Just another puppet in my father’s kingdom. Dancing to strings.”

She expected a reaction.

But all she got was a quiet: “Seatbelt.”

Ariana hissed, yanked the seatbelt into place.

Then silence again.

Until—

A sharp screech cut through the air as a dark van swerved onto the driveway—fast. No license plate. No signal. No hesitation.

Liam’s eyes flicked to the rearview.

It was the same motorcycle from earlier—now parked across the road. Watching.

“Down!” he barked, slamming the gear into reverse as the Bentley screeched backward in a perfect arc, tires smoking.

Ariana screamed, hands gripping the dashboard.

Gunshots. One. Two. Three—pinging against the rear window like hail.

Liam spun the car around the fountain in a smooth drift, then slammed forward onto the main road.

Ariana’s breath was shaky. Her voice was trembling. “W-what the hell was that?!”

He didn’t answer.

His knuckles were white against the wheel.

Inside his head, one thing was clear:

> This wasn’t part of the test.

This was real.

And Ariana Westbrook was in more danger than she knew.

—

Inside the mansion 

The steam curled around her like a second skin, thick and warm and suffocating.

Ariana leaned over the sink, water dripping from her fingertips, watching herself in the mirror like she didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

Her breath was shaky.

Her hands trembled.

She hated it.

Hated that she still felt like her heart was trying to punch through her ribs an hour after it had all ended.

The gunshots echoed in her head like thunder. The sound of metal biting into metal. Liam’s voice barking “Down!” like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Like her life hadn’t just come inches from ending.

She turned on the faucet again. Cold. Icy. Let it run over her wrists. Trying to numb something deeper than skin.

Get a grip, Ari.

She sniffed, blinked twice to clear the tears that had no business being there.

The knock on the bathroom door startled her.

She yanked her towel tighter.

“What?!” she snapped.

Silence.

Then his voice. Calm. Unbothered. Him.

> “Just checking you’re okay. We’ll have the security team sweep the estate by dawn. You should rest.”

Ariana rolled her eyes, even though she was glad for the door between them.

“Thanks, Daddy’s puppet,” she muttered.

There was a pause.

Then the sound of retreating footsteps.

She turned back to the mirror.

Then froze.

The door creaked slightly.

A soft sound.

Too soft for Liam’s heavy steps.

She blinked.

Waited.

Nothing.

Then—a whisper of breath. Just behind her.

She spun.

No one.

Heart pounding, she backed toward the tub. Picked up her phone. It was still dead. The charger unplugged.

She scanned the room. Her gaze landed on the small bathroom window above the tub.

It was ajar.

Wide enough for someone to—

Snap.

Her scream caught in her throat.

The lights flickered once.

She grabbed the metal towel bar off its hinge. Held it like a weapon.

“Ariana?” Liam’s voice again. Closer this time. Urgent.

“Don’t come in!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

The door flew open anyway.

He stepped in, eyes scanning, gun drawn.

She stood there, dripping, shaking, barely wrapped in her towel and holding a towel bar like a sword.

He didn’t even blink.

Just swept the room in a clean arc. Gun lowered slightly.

“There was someone here,” she whispered. “I swear. I heard them. The window—”

Liam crossed to the window in seconds. Scanned outside. Nothing.

But he didn’t brush her off.

He didn’t tell her she was being paranoid.

Instead, he shut and locked the window. Pulled the curtains tight.

When he turned back, her eyes were still wide.

She was still shaking.

“I’m not crazy,” she whispered, quieter this time.

“I know,” he said, just as softly.

Their eyes locked.

Something unspoken flickered in the space between them.

Something dangerous.

Ariana opened her mouth, but a sharp beep cut through the silence.

Liam’s watch.

He checked it. Froze.

Then looked back at her.

“We need to go,” he said, voice low. “Now.”

“Why?”

He looked at the door. Then back at her.

> “Because the silent alarm on the south wing was just tripped.”

Ariana didn’t argue this time. She didn’t roll her eyes or toss some sarcastic barb over her shoulder. 

She just moved—quickly—toward the bedroom, grabbing the first set of clothes she could find. Her hands still trembled, but her mind was catching up to the weight of it all.

 This wasn’t some overblown drama cooked up by her overprotective father. This was real. People were trying to kill her. 

And the man her father sent—the man she mocked and tested—was the only one standing between her and something far worse than a ruined night.

She slipped into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, heart thudding in time with the pounding in her ears.

 Liam waited at the door, his gun holstered now but tension rippling through every muscle like he was a coiled spring. 

She’d never seen anyone so in control—yet clearly ready to lose it all in a heartbeat if needed.

As they moved down the hallway, lights flickered again—twice this time. Ariana paused. “The generator?”

Liam shook his head. “No. Someone’s messing with the circuit feed. This is tactical.”

Then—

A sound.

Faint.

Deliberate.

From upstairs.

The unmistakable creak of a floorboard.

Liam raised a hand to silence her. Ariana froze.

Then a thump. Something—or someone—dropping down into the hallway just behind them.

Liam turned, gun raised.

A figure in black. Masked. Silent. Moving fast.

But it wasn’t the only one.

Three more shado

ws spilled into the hallway from the other end.

They were surrounded.

Ariana's voice was a whisper, pure panic: “Liam…”

His grip tightened on the trigger.

> “Stay behind me.”

She did.

And then the front window exploded inward—