Heart pounding, I dial the numbers. He watches me closely as I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

I breathe in deep.

“There’s a man that’s been stalking me. He broke into my house a week ago. And now he’s standing outside watching me.”

“He’s standing outside right now?” the operator asks. I hear typing in the background, accompanied by the smack of her gum.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Ma’am, is he doing anything? Does he have any weapons on him?” she asks.

“Not that I know of. Can you send someone out?”

More typing. “What’s your address, ma’am?”

I recite the address to her. She asks a few more pointless questions and informs me a cruiser is about five minutes out. She asks me to stay on the phone, but I don’t.

I click the phone off. My little shadow isn’t going to stick around long enough for the police to show up and catch him. He’ll disappear off into the woods he came out of, and never be found. I know this.

I can’t see his eyes, but I meet his gaze anyway. With one last smile, he types out a quick message. My phone buzzes, but I don’t look right away.

I’m too scared to.

And without a concern in the fucking world, he slowly turns and walks away. The darkness reaches out and grabs ahold of him, swallowing him into its depths until he’s vanished completely.

When the cruiser shows up, I already want him to leave. For reasons I can’t quite explain, I regret calling the police. I just… want him to leave.

The cop is an overweight man with short blonde hair and a ruddy face. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

I feel the same exact way.

“What’s going on here, ma’am?” he asks, huffing and puffing as he makes his way up the front porch.

“A man was outside my window,” I say shortly.

“O-okay,” he says, drawing out the O. “Has this happened before?”

I tell him that I’ve made several police reports that came up missing, but that this man has been coming around and breaking into my house for the past couple of months. After telling him of the previous experiences, he pulls out his pad and starts writing out the report.

“You said your name was Adeline Reilly, correct?”

“Yes.”

He pauses from writing and looks at me as if he’s seeing a different person.

“Aren’t you the one that had Archibald Talaverra go missing off your porch?” he asks, looking me up and down, pausing on my chest for a second too long, as if my tits are going to give him the answer.

“Yes,” I bite out, growing impatient.

He hums in response and goes back to writing his report.

“You think it was the same guy?”

“It’d be pretty fucked if it wasn’t,” I mutter. When the cop just side-eyes me, I sigh. “Yes, I do.”

He stops writing after that and asks me a few more customary questions. Do you have a description, do you know who he might be, and so on. I give him all the information I have, except what’s most important.

I don’t tell him about the text messages. I don’t know why, but they feel… private. Which is fucking stupid. Makes no sense, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. The police officer leaves with absolutely no helpful information. But he still leaves with a police report, and that’s what’s important.

It’s not until after I take a hot shower and settle into my bed that I read his message.

UNKNOWN: The more you disobey me, the harder your punishment.

“I’m going to find this little dick prick,” Daya declares angrily, practically slamming the keys through her laptop as she types god knows what. I just finished telling her the details of last night.

I take a sip of my drink. It’s not enough, so I take another. And then end up chugging the whole thing.

We’re both doing our respective work, but she didn’t want to leave me alone in the house now that my shadow is starting to interact more.

“Dick and prick are the same thing,” I say. She looks up, her face reflecting my exact thoughts since last night. What is wrong with you?

I shrug a shoulder. “I’m just saying. You just called him a little dick dick.”

She rolls her eyes, ignores me, and starts typing on her laptop again. Probably hacking into something. Though I can’t imagine what she could possibly be hacking into. Better not be my phone. I have nudes on there.

My face pales. Oh, god, what if he hacks into it and finds them? I scramble to pick up my phone, delete every single racy picture, and then delete them a second time from the Trash folder.

Some of my anxiety eases, but not all of it. He could’ve already hacked into it for all I know.

I’m going to be obsessing over this for the rest of my life now.

Noticing my internal crisis, Daya focuses on me, her brow pinched with concern. “You okay, girl?”

I clear my throat. “How likely is it that he can hack into my phone and find my nudes?” Her lip twitches and I’m two seconds away from smacking it off her face.

“Baby girl, that man has probably watched you get naked in your room a thousand times now.”

My eyes widen further, having not considered that yet, either.

“Oh my God.”

“Why do you ask?” Daya asks, her voice full of suspicion.

I roll my lips together, debating. At this point, the only thing holding me back from telling Daya about the texts is her impending anger.

Finally building up the courage, I rush out, “Would you be able to trace an unknown number?”

Her eyes slant. “Did he text you from one?”

Shame creeps in. I should’ve told her this sooner, but I had a weird protective need to keep the texts to myself, just like with the police officer. Now, I realize how stupid that is when Daya is one of the best hackers in the world. Or so she says, at least.

I nod sheepishly and hand her the phone, the thread already pulled up. She snatches it from my hand, shooting me a heated glare, and reads through them.

Her eyes draw back to my own, fire licking at her pupils. “You’re just now showing me these?”

I groan. “I know, I’m a stupid bitch. I just… I don’t know, Daya. I honestly don’t. Can you trace them?”

“I don’t forgive you yet, but let me see.”

I don’t worry about her anger. Daya could get bit by a snake and immediately forgive it. She’s just playing hard to get right now.

What looks like frustration settles over her face. Her lips curve down, and as the seconds pass by, her frown deepens. She leans closer to the screen, still typing a mile a second.

After a few minutes, she slaps her palms on the granite and leans back, obvious anger now on her face.

“Untraceable,” is all she says.

My anxiety resurfaces. “So, this man can hack into my security cameras, override them, and can clearly text me from an untraceable number. Which means he probably hacked my phone and got my nudes.”

She looks up at me, and I already know my answer.

“It’s possible,” she says, though her tone conveys that it’s probable.

I drop my head to my laptop, surely pressing a bunch of keys, but I don’t care right now. A creepy ass dude potentially has my nudes. Worse, he probably has video footage of me naked. I suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world to happen—my body is fabulous. But I’ll definitely be mortified if they get leaked.

What if he uses them as blackmail? Never thought I’d think this, but hopefully, he’s too obsessed with me to leak them. He’s already proven to be highly possessive. If another man can’t even touch my thigh without getting his hands cut off, then surely he wouldn’t show the world my naked body?

“Did you delete them?” I nod, my forehead grating against the keys. I cringe at the noise. If I don’t stop, my big ass head will ruin my laptop.