Chapter 6: The Messages Won’t Stop

I haven’t slept.

The phone buzzes again under my pillow at Noah’s place. I grab it fast so it doesn’t wake him.

Another unknown number.

This time it’s a different picture. One from inside the building lobby two nights ago. Noah’s hand is low on my back, almost on my hip. My face is turned up to him, eyes soft, lips parted like I was about to say something sweet. He’s looking down at me the way he does when he thinks no one’s watching—like I’m the only thing in the room.

The message under it:

He used to look at his fiancée like that.

Wonder what she’d think of you now.

My stomach twists. I delete it quick, hands shaking.

I’ve been deleting them for days. They come from different numbers. Always at night. Always with a new photo.

Someone’s following us.

Noah stirs beside me.

“Lila?”

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper. “Just work stuff.”

He pulls me closer, arm heavy across my waist, and falls quiet again.

I stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up.

---

That afternoon I’m at Grandma’s. She’s folding laundry, humming an old song. She looks so healthy now—cheeks pink, eyes bright. It hurts to look at her because every good day she has is because of him. Because of what I do at night.

She stops folding and sits beside me on the couch.

“Baby, what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all week.”

“Nothing. Just tired.”

She takes my hand. Hers is warm now, not cold like before.

“Whoever’s paying for my medicine… I want to thank them. Properly. Maybe invite them for dinner.”

My heart drops.

“You don’t have to,” I say too fast. “It’s anonymous for a reason.”

“But they saved my life, Lila. They gave me more time with you.” Her eyes fill up. “I was so scared I’d leave you alone.”

Tears hit me hard. I turn my head so she doesn’t see.

“I know, Grandma.”

She squeezes my hand. “You’re carrying too much. Always have. Let someone help you for once.”

If only she knew.

---

That night I go to Noah. I don’t want to, but I need to feel safe for a few hours.

He opens the door and pulls me inside without a word. Kisses me slow and deep, like he missed me all day. We don’t talk much. Clothes come off in the hallway. He lifts me against the wall, hands gripping my hips, mouth on my neck.

When he carries me to bed, it’s different. Slower. His eyes stay on mine the whole time. He touches me everywhere—gentle, like he’s trying to say something he can’t.

His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing soft circles. I arch into him, eyes wet.

“Lila,” he whispers, voice rough. “Look at me.”

I do.

And it breaks me.

Because I see it there. The same thing I’m terrified of feeling.

He moves inside me deep and steady, forehead against mine. My moans come out shaky. When I come, tears slip down my temples into my hair.

He kisses them away, still moving, then groans my name and holds me so tight I can feel his heart pounding against mine.

After, he doesn’t let go.

---

I lie there listening to him breathe and feel the tears start again.

Because I love him.

I love him so much it hurts.

And tomorrow, or the next day, those pictures are going to come out.

Everyone will know what I did.

Grandma will know.

She’ll look at me different.

She’ll know the extra time she got… came from my body.

From nights I sold to him.

I press my face into his chest and cry quietly so he won’t hear.

But he does.

He always does.

He just holds me tighter and whispers, “I’ve got you,” over and over.

Like he knows it’s all about to fall apart.

To be continued…