18. Raven

Chapter 18

Raven

T he glass tabletop reflected the Los Angeles skyline as I leaned forward, my fingers splayed across its smooth surface. My agent, and also ex-husband, a silver-haired fox of the industry, was prattling on about opportunities that would have once made my heart race with excitement.

"This role is practically written for you. The protagonist is strong, independent. You'll not only star, but also produce if you want." His eyes gleamed with the prospect of success.

"I like the sound of that, but I need to know more about the creative team. I won't sign on unless the director's vision aligns with my own."

"Of course," he nodded, shuffling papers. "I expected no less from you."

As we talked about numbers and dates, my poise never wavered. Yet, beneath the table, my leg bounced ever so slightly—a silent symphony of tension playing out just below the calm surface.

My phone, positioned beside the sleek leather planner, vibrated discreetly. A quick glance revealed no caller ID, just an ominous blank screen that spoke volumes more than any name or number could. I silenced it without missing a beat in the conversation.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine," I assured him with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. That smile was the armor I wore against the world, especially now when every unknown call could be another twisted message from him—the stalker who had slithered into my life like a serpent into Eden.

"Good," he said. "Because there's also talk of a book deal based on your life story. Your resilience, your rise to fame—it's the kind of story that inspires."

"Let's tread carefully with that. My story isn't over yet, and some chapters are... more personal."

"Understood. We'll keep it all on your terms, Raven. Always."

The meeting wrapped up with promises of further details and tentative excitement about the future—a future I was determined to reclaim as my own. I stood tall, my silhouette casting a long shadow across the room, embodying the very essence of control. But inside, the incessant buzz of my silenced phone echoed like a warning. It was a reminder that control was often nothing more than an illusion—one I was desperately trying to maintain.

No sooner had he pulled out of the driveway than did a delivery truck engine hum outside. I peered through the sheer curtains, watching as the driver sprang from his seat with a haste that seemed to betray a desire to be rid of whatever he was delivering.

The man glanced around furtively, as if the weight of watchful eyes bore down upon him. In one swift movement, he snatched a small box from the back of the truck and darted toward the gate. His movements were brisk, imbued with an urgency that set my nerves on edge.

Odd . The box—a plain brown box devoid of any distinct markings—was left unceremoniously on the threshold. With scarcely a second glance, the driver bolted back to his vehicle, and sped away, leaving only a cloud of exhaust and a prickling sense of mystery.

My curiosity warred with caution, mind racing as I imagined the contents of the box. Was it merely an innocuous delivery, or something more sinister? My fingers twitched with the impulse to retrieve it, yet I hesitated, knowing all too well the potential dangers that lurked behind the mundane.

Jerome's boots made a soft crunch on the gravel as he closed in on the package. His gaze sliced through the air like a pair of daggers, scrutinizing every inch of space around the doorstep. The brown box sat there.

He bent down, his shadow enveloping the package as if to shield it from further prying eyes. His fingers hovered an inch away before they made contact, feeling for the subtlest hint of interference. A faint line where the tape met the cardboard seemed undisturbed, yet his gut tightened.

"Everything clear?"

"Checking for irregularities," Jerome responded, his words clipped with precision. His hands worked methodically, rotating the box, examining its edges. Nothing seemed amiss.

"Seems fine." He straightened up, the box now tucked securely under his arm.

"Anything I should be worried about?"

"Let's hope it's just another gift from an admirer," Jerome offered, though the reassurance was more for my benefit than his own conviction.

I turned the package over in my hands and ran a finger under the sealed flap, taking care to open it without tearing anything. If this was another message from my stalker, every clue mattered.

"Be careful," Jerome's voice was a low rumble in the background.

"Always am." Inside, wrapped in nondescript brown paper, was a smaller box – elegant and unassuming. The kind that bespoke of thoughtfulness and intention. I hesitated for just a moment, a whisper of trepidation creeping into my thoughts before curiosity won over.

With careful fingers, I unfolded the flaps of the box, revealing a cream-colored box neatly tied with a silk ribbon. My heart caught in my throat as I undid the knot, the ribbon slipping away like a secret being unveiled.

"Jerome…" The name left my lips in a hushed, disbelieving exhale.

"Raven? What is it?" He was at my side in an instant, his own apprehension mirroring mine.

"It's a pair on my underwear," I said.

I sat frozen, the box clutched in my trembling hands. This wasn't just a threat; it was personal, intimate. Someone had been inside my house, my bedroom.

"Deep breaths. We'll figure this out."

I looked down again."Jerome, how...?" My voice cracked, the typically unshakeable foundation of my resolve crumbling.

"Someone's playing a sick game. Let's just take this one step at a time together."

Together… The concept felt foreign yet achingly desirable. I wanted her to lean on me. To trust is to risk, but perhaps the gamble is worth it when the stakes are your heart, your life.

My hand tightened around his, a silent pledge of solidarity.

"I won't stop until we have answers and you are safe."

In this moment, I allowed myself to imagine the future, one where fear no longer held dominion over her life. Together, we are stronger.