November 21, Thursday

THE CALLER ID made my stomach clench. I almost let it go to voicemail, but something—anger, maybe, or just exhaustion—made me answer.

"Ready to settle?" Curtis's voice was smooth as honey, poisonous as nightshade. "Your publisher seems quite concerned about the situation."

I gripped the phone tighter, pacing my bedroom. "I'm not giving you a dime, much less half a million dollars."

"Come on, Josie. Be reasonable. Your little career can't survive much more bad publicity."

"You're the one who should be worried. Those bad things that happened to you, they're because of the curse I had put on you."

His laugh was exactly as I remembered it—rich and condescending, like he was humoring a child. "A curse? Oh, sweetheart. Has rural living completely rotted your brain? Besides, having my arms and legs in casts is working for me—my Tik Tok numbers have exploded. So bring on more curses."

I ground my jaw. "Maybe I will."

"Whatever. You have thirty days to transfer the money, or I release my outlines, notes on plot points, texts where you begged me not to tell anyone that I'd written your books for you."

"Those are my outlines, my notes… and those texts never happened."

"I have screenprints that say they did," he oozed in a way that made me think he was pretty confident about his ability to create fake texts. "Thirty days, Josie."

The call ended, leaving me alone with my thundering heart and a horrible sense of déjà vu. Hadn't I been here before? Trusting the wrong man, letting him get close enough to wound me?

I sank onto my bed, memories flooding back. Curtis, with his perfect smile and perfect hair and calculating eyes, always pushing to see my works in progress. Always offering "suggestions" that felt more like criticisms. Always making me doubt myself, my talent, my worth.

And now Sawyer, with his secrets and his connection to Rose. His hot-and-cold behavior at the beginning. His insistence that none of Irving's mysteries were real, even as strange things kept happening around us.

Was I drawn to emotionally unavailable men? Did I subconsciously seek out complicated relationships because simple ones felt too vulnerable?

"Stop it," I told myself firmly. "Sawyer isn't Curtis."

But the doubt had taken root, threading through my mind like ivy. Curtis had seemed perfect at first too. Supportive, charming, interested in my work. By the time I saw his true nature, he'd already embedded himself in my life, my career, my heart.

My phone buzzed—a text from Sawyer: Thinking of you. Dinner later?

I stared at the message, tears pricking my eyes. Everything in me wanted to say yes, to lose myself in his warmth and strength. But Curtis's threats echoed in my head, mixing with Tilda's warnings and my own insecurities.

Was I really building something real with Sawyer? Or was I just replacing one enigmatic man with another?

The cursor blinked, waiting for my response. A crow landed on my windowsill. Its harsh cry carried through the glass, like a warning.

I texted back, Not tonight, I have to work.

First I had to finish my book, then save my career.

Then I could decide whether to trust Sawyer.