chapter four -unknown package

The night has never felt so heavy. Even after he drove me home, the darkness seems to cling to me, wrapping its cold fingers around my shoulders. My apartment building looms ahead, the familiar bricks suddenly alien, threatening.

I fumble with my keys, my hands still trembling from the car ride. My mind replays every word he’s said, every sharp glance, every quiet warning.

“You’re mine, Lisa. You’re too important to be seen like this.”

Too important.

I shake my head, trying to chase the thought away. He is dangerous. Obsessed. Unpredictable. And yet… part of me feels safer knowing he is out there, watching, protecting, even if I don’t want to admit it.

The lock clicks, and the door swings open. My apartment smells of faint vanilla and lavender from the candle I left burning hours ago. My heels click against the wooden floor, a sound I barely register.

I drop my bag on the small hallway table and exhale sharply. Finally, I am home. Alone. Safe.

Or so I think.

A soft thump by the door catches my attention. I freeze. The building is quiet, empty at this hour. My pulse quickens.

Slowly, I approach the door. My fingers tremble as I reach for the knob, turning it just enough to peek outside.

Nothing.

I step back, then notice it a small package lying against the threshold.

My heart stops.

I don’t remember leaving anything there. I don’t recognize the wrapping, a simple brown paper tied with twine, neat and deliberate.

I kneel down cautiously, glancing around. No one is there. Not a single shadow moves in the dim hallway. My pulse thuds in my ears.

I pick it up. Light. Insignificant. But heavy in implication.

I open the package slowly, hands still shaking. Inside, carefully folded, is my missing purse from the party. I freeze, staring at it.

I don’t notice the note at first.

“You deserve better.”

Four words. Simple. Clear. Devastating.

My hands shake so violently I have to grip the table to steady myself. The words blur on the page, but their meaning sinks in deep.

Better.

Better than what? Better than who? Better than this—this constant fear of never belonging? Never being seen? Never being enough?

I sink onto the edge of the couch, clutching the note to my chest. My tears return, hot and unstoppable, burning through the fragile armor I built around myself for the night.

Why is he doing this?

Why is he doing this?

The memory of his eyes in the car—the intensity, the possessiveness, the obsession—flashes in my mind. I shiver. He said he is watching me. He knows me. Somehow, he knows exactly how to get under my skin, how to make me feel small, terrified, yet… compelled.

I feel anger rising, hot and sharp. How dare he? How dare he insert himself into my life like this, uninvited, unannounced, controlling every thought I can’t seem to contain? How dare everybody think they can control my emotions? How dare them, I ha…te everyone, everybody they're….. they're all the same

And yet, my fingers tremble as I smooth the note against my chest.

Part of me wants to throw it away. Part of me wants to keep it.

I don’t understand. I don’t want to.

I feel the apartment shift around me, the walls closing in, and my phone buzzes on the table. A message from an unknown number. My hands freeze.

I pick it up.

“you are MINE”

My breath hitsched.

The text is concise, deliberate. Nothing else. No explanation,No name,No signature,Just a declaration .

I drop the phone onto the couch beside me, staring at it like it might answer itself.

" Who are you? I type quickly, fingers trembling. Why are you doing this?"

No reply.

I feel the tears pooling again, heavier this time, sharper. My chest tightens. The night feels heavy and silent, and now it settles into an ache I can’t shake.

I shake my head. This isn’t relief. This is fear.

And yet…

I can’t stop thinking about the night, about the car, about his words. “I hate seeing you like this.”

The way he leans forward, his eyes sharp, commanding… protective… obsessive.

I swallow hard, trying to push the memory away, but the image burns in my mind.

I press my hand to my face, fingers brushing away tears that won’t stop.

And then my phone buzzes again. Another message, from the same unknown number.

“Good. Keep it safe. We’ll meet soon.”

The words are casual, almost polite. Yet underneath them lie a threat, a promise, a warning.

I drop my phone, too terrified to read it again.

I sink lower onto the couch, feeling small and exposed, and for the first time, I whisper to no one, to no one at all:

“I… don’t understand any of this.”

And somewhere in the dark, I know he is watching. Somewhere, beyond the city lights, he is there, unseen, his eyes tracking me even now.

The knowledge should terrify me. And it does.

But somehow… it also makes me feel alive.

I don’t even notice the faint scratching sound at my window until it stops abruptly, leaving silence so loud it feels like it will break me.

I press myself back into the couch, hugging my knees. My mind races is he outside? Has he followed me home?