HE SEES EVERYTHING

I sat across from the officer, drenched, exhausted, and absolutely furious.

He kept looking at me like I was crazy.

Like I had just spun some ridiculous lie for attention.

"So let me get this straight," Officer Grayson said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers lazily tapping against his desk.

"A man chased you into the woods, fired shots at you, slammed you against a tree, held a gun to your head, and then..." his lips curled into a smirk, "kissed you?"

My fists balled up until my knuckles turned white.

"Yes."

His smirk widened. "And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, fight back? Scream for help?"

I was going to lose it. Was this some type of joke to him?

"I ran to the police station in the middle of the night, soaking wet, after barely escaping with my life," I snapped. "You think I did that for fun?"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like I was some lost cause. "Miss, do you realize how ridiculous this sounds?"

I was completely overcome by anger and rage.

Of course he didn’t believe me.

Men like him never listened.

I could already see the headline in his mind: Hysterical woman makes up stalker story for attention.

"I'm not making this up," I gritted out. "I’m telling you...he’s been following me for months. He broke into my house. He left things for me. And tonight, he...”

Officer Grayson raised a hand, cutting me off like I was a child throwing a tantrum.

"Right. And do you have any actual proof?" His voice was slow and condescending. "Any witnesses? Video footage? Anything that isn't just... your words?"

A slow, suffocating panic spread through my chest.

I knew how this worked.

Without proof, I was just another paranoid woman with a dramatic story.

"I want to speak to a woman."

The amusement flickered from his face. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I said, managing to keep my voice firm despite the anger bubbling inside me.

"I want to speak to a female officer."

He let out a heavy, irritated sigh, rubbing his hand over his face.

Then, without another word, he pushed back from his desk, muttered something under his breath, and walked out.

I exhaled shakily, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A few minutes later, a woman stepped in.

Her dark hair was tied into a neat bun and her uniform clung tightly to her body.

She pulled out the chair across from me, sat down, and folded her hands on the desk.

"Detective Maya Rivera," she said, her voice smooth and professional. "What seems to be the problem?"

With a new sense of relief, I told her everything. From the very first day he showed up at my bedside to just minutes ago when he shot at me.

Hesitantly, I also told her about the kiss.

Detective Rivera’s expression didn’t change.

Not a single flicker of amusement, doubt or pity.

Just silence.

Then she leaned back, tapping her fingers against the desk.

"You said he left things for you," she said. "Like what?"

I hesitated, then rubbed at my arms, suddenly cold.

"A box," I said. "It showed up at my house a few days ago."

Her gaze sharpened. "Do you still have it?"

"Yes." I swallowed. "Come home with me. I’ll show you."

She studied me for a moment, then stood.

"Alright," she said. "Let’s go."

~

The ride back to the mansion was silent.

Detective Rivera was completely focused on the road and I distracted myself by looking out the window.

By the time we reached the mansion, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

Detective Rivera turned off the car and stepped out.

I hesitated before following.

"This place is still under construction?" she asked, surveying the half-built walls, the uneven floors and the exposed beams.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Someone bought it. He is remodelling it to his taste."

Rivera hummed, pulling out a small flashlight and scanning the area as she stepped inside. "Mind if I look around?"

I hesitated. Then nodded. "Go ahead. I’ll get the box."

She gave me a curt smile and moved deeper into the house.

I rushed upstairs.

The box was still where I had left it hidden in my closet, buried beneath a pile of sweaters.

I yanked it out and cradled it against my chest, taking a shaky breath.

I didn’t want to open it again.

Didn’t want to see the things he had left for me.

But if this was the only proof I had, then I had no choice.

I hurried back downstairs.

Detective Rivera was standing in the main hall, in front of one of the locked doors.

She turned as soon she heard my footsteps.

"What’s in here?" she asked, tapping the handle.

I swallowed hard.

"The carpenters locked it for safety reasons," I replied.

Her eyes flickered with suspicion, but she didn’t press.

I held out the box to shift her attention away from the locked door.

She took it, flipped the lid open and pulled out the small card.

"Do you recognize this address?"

I panicked.

If she traced it, she might find something I wasn’t ready to face.

So I lied.

"It’s an old restaurant," I said quickly. "From my hometown. I went there once, years ago."

She studied me for a long, tense moment.

Then to my relief, she nodded and took out her phone, and took photos of the box and its contents.

Satisfied, she placed it on the couch.

"Show me the other things," she said.

I led her upstairs and showed her the broken floorboard and my ankle, and the trace of ash he had left on my dresser.

Rivera narrowed her eyes.

"You said your stalker smokes?"

"Yes."

She pulled out a small plastic bag and carefully collected some of the ash. Then she turned to me with a calm expression plastered on her face.

"Kelsey."

I stiffened.

"Are you sure this isn’t an ex?"

My blood went cold.

I snapped.

"I have never met this man before!" My voice cracked, shaking with frustration. "I don’t know who he is! He just showed up one day, and now he won’t leave me alone!"

Detective Rivera held my hand. "Alright. I hear you."

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady my breathing.

We walked back downstairs in silence.

But when we got to the living room, the box was gone.

My stomach dropped.

I froze.

He was here. This was definitely his handiwork.

Detective Rivera immediately scanned the room, her hand drifting toward her belt like she expected an ambush.

She looked around but there was no one in the house.

"What the hell is this?" She muttered angrily.

"It was right there," I whispered.

My pulse pounded violently. The only physical evidence was gone, this was completely hopeless.

Detective Rivera turned to me, her eyes wide and alert.

"This is more serious than I had imagined" she murmured. "Thank God I took pictures. That’s enough to open an investigation."

It wasn’t enough.

But I forced myself to nod.

She led me to the front door and slipped a business card into my hands.

"I’ll be in touch. If anything happens, anything at all, please call me."

I nodded again.

She hesitated, then got into her car and drove off.

I exhaled, pressing my fingers against my temples.

"Fuck!" I cussed under my breath.

How did he always manage to be one step ahead? It was like he was watching my every move.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and stared at the unknown number flashing on the screen.

I hesitantly answered hoping it might be Detective Rivera or someone from work.

I didn’t even get a chance to speak before a familiar voice sounded through the speaker.

"Better luck next time, Kelsey."