Chapter 2.

Chapter 2: The Silent Predator

I stare at the photo for an hour.

Maybe two.

Time feels weird when your entire world just got flipped upside down.

I should call the police. But what would I even say? "A man broke into my apartment and paid all my bills"? They'd laugh me off the phone.

I have to go to work. My shift at Romano's starts at 8 AM, and I can't afford to lose this job.

Sure, my bills are paid NOW. But for how long? What's the catch?

There's always a catch.

On the bus, I clutch the photo in my pocket, and try to find meaning behind it. Why now?

I can't stop thinking about it. That night. The fire. Mom.

Why can't I remember?

Walking to work, my brain goes into overdrive.

It's doing the thing again. Noticing, recording. Whether I want it to or not.

Black SUV parked across the street. License plate: 7JKL-439. Tinted windows. Engine is still running.

I count the seconds as I walk past. The exhaust pattern says it's been idling for at least 47 minutes.

Who sits in a car for 47 minutes at 7 AM?

Man at the bus stop. Gray suit. 6'1". Military posture. Earpiece barely visible under his collar.

He's not waiting for a bus. He's just standing.

Security camera on the corner. It's angled three degrees to the LEFT.

Yesterday it was pointing straight.

I know because my brain photographed it yesterday. And the day before. And every day for the past three months.

Someone moved it. And I NEVER forget. EVER.

Am I going crazy? Am I seeing threats that aren't there?

Those cameras WERE different yesterday.

Four surveillance points on this block. Two vehicles that have been behind my bus for six blocks now. A woman in a coffee shop who made eye contact with me twice.

My photographic memory used to just remember prices and numbers and boring stuff.

Now it's screaming: DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.

Why?

What changed?

Him. That man.

Ever since he showed up in my kitchen, my brain won't shut up about threats.

During lunch break. I call Mara.

Mara Chen, my best friend since high school, and the only person in the world I actually trust.

She answers on the second ring. "Please tell me you're calling with good news for once."

"Define good news."

"Uh oh. What happened?"

I take a breath. "Okay, so. I woke up this morning and someone had completely redecorated my apartment. New furniture, new laptop, all my bills paid. Then a man was sitting in my kitchen—"

"WHAT?"

"—and he said he's been watching me for a year and I have 24 hours to decide if I want to keep my new life."

Silence.

Then, "Iris. What the actual hell."

"There's more. He left me $50,000 in cash. And a photo of me from the night my mom died."

More silence.

"Mara?"

"Okay," she says slowly. "Either this is the best sugar daddy situation ever, or you're about to get trafficked. I'm going with option A because you deserve a win."

Despite everything, I almost laugh. This is why I love her.

"He said he's been watching me for a year."

"Creepy... but like, rich creepy or serial killer creepy?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, if this billionaire stalker wants to pay Mason's bills, maybe just... see what he wants? You can run if it gets weird."

"It's already weird, Mara."

"Weirder, then. Look, you have 24 hours, right? Use them. Find out who he is. You're good at that computer stuff."

She's right.

"Thanks, Mara."

"Always. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

We hang up.

I feel slightly less alone now.

And Mara's right about one thing: I need information.

By 3 pm, I make my way to Memorial Hospital. Oncology. Room 304.

Mason's Room.

I walk in and stop.

He looks... good. Actually good.

There's color in his cheeks. He's sitting up. Smiling.

When's the last time I saw him smile?

"Iris! Guess what?"

"What?"

"Dr. Reid said my treatment got upgraded! The good drugs are available now. Those expensive ones!"

My stomach drops. "Since when?"

“They just arrived today. Some anonymous donor covered everything six months ago.”

Six months.

The stranger said he's been watching me for a YEAR.

Someone's lying.

"Iris?" Mason's looking at me weird. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you?"

I force a smile. "Define illegal."

He laughs. God, I've missed that sound.

"Seriously though. You're not in trouble?"

I squeeze his hand. "I'm handling it."

"That's what scares me. You always handle things alone."

"I'll be fine. I promise."

Lie. I have no idea if I'll be fine.

But Mason doesn't need to know that. He needs to focus on getting better.

That's why I'll do ANYTHING. Anything to keep him alive.

Mason is everything.

The door opens, and a new nurse walks in. Young, looking efficient.

Name tag says "Jennifer Mills."

But the font is wrong. It's printed, not the standard hospital-issued embossed letters.

"Your brother's doing great," she says brightly. "His treatment is fully covered by an anonymous donor."

Something feels off.

But Mason is smiling, and I haven't seen him smile in months.

I push the unease down, and hold onto his hand. For now.

I spend two more hours with my brother before leaving for my evening gig.

Sinclair Charity Gala at The Metropolitan.

I'm back in my server uniform, carrying champagne to people who spend my yearly salary on shoes.

My brain automatically file away details:

147 guests.

23 security personnel.

8 exits.

Old money. New money. Blood money.

Dangerous men standing in corners, not mingling with the crowd. I've worked enough of these events to recognize the types.

During my break, I check my phone.

Three missed calls. From an unknown number.

Then a text: You're being watched. Trust no one.

A different number from this morning.

My heart starts racing.

I look up to scan the ballroom. That's when I see him.

HIM! Across the room.

Black suit. Perfect posture. Completely still.

But it's not the stillness of someone relaxed.

It's predator stillness.

Everyone around him gives him space. Like they perceive an instinctive circle of fear about him.

He's not looking at the guests.

He's looking at ME.

Our eyes meet. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Well, what was I expecting.

He pulls out his phone. One second later, my phone buzzes.

Text from unknown number: Don't run. They're already here.

I snap back up. He's not alone anymore.

Three men in suits have appeared. One at each exit.

MY exits.

The ones I've been cataloging all night, just in case. He just blocked every single one.

Then he starts walking toward me.

People part for him automatically, like the red sea before Moses.

Except Moses didn't look like death in a suit.

He's coming.

And I have nowhere to run.