13. When Fear Calls

CHAPTER 13

When Fear Calls

ILEANA

By seven-thirty, my nerves are frayed. Every sound, every shadow, makes me jump. My eyes keep flicking to the clock, watching the minutes disappear. Wren's voice echoes in my head on endless repeat.

Meet me tonight. Eight o’clock. Don’t make me come looking for you.

I can't stop thinking about the black rose he left in my locker. The thorn's sting still throbs, a reminder that this isn't some bad dream I can just wake up from.

“Ileana?” Dad’s voice pulls my attention to where he stands in the doorway, watching me with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been very quiet this evening. What’s going on?”

I force my hands to steady as I place the last plate on the drainer. “Nothing, Dad. Just tired, and I’ve got a lot of homework. Senior year is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is? You’re not getting involved in anything at school that you shouldn’t be?”

The question would have been easy to answer earlier in the week. Now, though? I can’t be honest. And I need to make him believe that nothing has changed.

“No, I’m not involved in anything.”

His eyes bore into me, and I hold his gaze, and force myself not to break.

“Good,” he says finally. “That’s how it needs to be. Focus on your studies.”

I walk past him and go to my room, keeping my pace normal, when all I want to do is run. Once the door closes behind me, I sag against it and let out a shaky breath. Seven forty-five glares at me from my bedside clock.

The next fifteen minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. I try to focus on my homework, but the words keep swimming in front of my eyes. All I can think about is Wren’s smirk, and the darkness in his eyes when he cornered me in the dance studio. The way he traced up and down my spine with his pen in class.

Seven fifty-five.

My heart races, the anticipation growing unbearable. I keep glancing at the window, half-expecting to see Wren there already. The fear coils tighter, wrapping around my chest like a vice.

Seven fifty-eight.

I can barely breathe. My skin feels too tight, my pulse thrumming in my ears. What if he comes? What if he doesn't? The not knowing is worse than anything else. My imagination runs wild with possibilities—each one darker than the last.

Eight o’clock arrives.

I hold my breath.

Silence.

Nothing happens.

Eight-oh-five ticks past. Eight-ten.

The tension eases, just a fraction. My shoulders start to relax as eight-fifteen approaches. Maybe it was just another mind game, another way to get under my skin. Maybe he won't actually come.

Eight-twenty.

I let out a long sigh of relief, my body sagging as I finally allow myself to believe it's over.

A firm knock on the front door stops my heart.

"I'll get it," Dad calls from the living room.

I can't breathe. I can't move from my desk chair. My heart slams against my ribs as I strain to hear above the pounding in my ears.

"Can I help you?" Dad's voice carries that edge I recognize from whenever strangers approach us.

"Good evening, Mr. Moreno." Wren's smooth voice drifts down the hall, and my stomach drops.

Oh no.

"My name is Wren Carlisle. I'm here to see Ileana."

Oh no no no.

My hand clamps over my mouth to stifle a scream.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

"She didn't mention expecting visitors."

"School project," Wren says, cheerful in a way I've never heard before. "We were assigned as partners at the start of the week. Won't take long—ten minutes at most."

The silence stretches, heavy with Dad's suspicion. I can picture his face, the way his eyes narrow while he’s assessing what to say next.

"It's too late. Talk to her at school tomorrow."

The door closes with finality, and I sag in relief. Footsteps approach my room, and I quickly bend over my textbook just as Dad enters.

"Why is a boy at the door asking for you?"

I school my expression into mild curiosity before looking up. "A boy? Who?"

"Wren something. He mentioned a project." Dad's mouth sets in a hard line. "What have I told you about getting involved with people?"

"I'm not! I don't know why he came. He must have been mistaken about who he’s supposed to be working with."

Dad stares at me for a long moment, while my heart tries to break free from my chest. I hold my breath, bracing for him to call me out.

"I'll remind the school tomorrow that you're not to do joint projects."

Once he leaves, I press my hands against my face, trying to steady my breathing. It's over. Wren tried his power play and failed. If I'm lucky, he'll leave me alone now.

A soft tap at the window shatters that illusion .

My blood turns to ice.

The tapping becomes more insistent, harder, like a nail dragging across the edges of my sanity.

No. Not now. Please, no.

I freeze, my heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else. He taps again, each sound like a promise. My body trembles, but this time, it’s not just fear. It’s anger, too, bubbling beneath the surface.

How dare he?

With trembling fingers, I pull back the curtain. Wren leans against the glass, half-shadowed, his eyes locked on mine. His expression is calm, but there’s something in his gaze that chills me—dark, unrelenting amusement. He's enjoying this—watching me squirm, savoring every second of my reaction.

"Come out," he mouths through the glass. "Now."

I shake my head, backing away. My stomach twists, a mess of fear and fury warring inside me. I don’t want to play this game, but the rules are his, and I don't know how to change them.

His knuckles rap against the window again. Each tap is louder, vibrating through the silence of the room, as if he's knocking on my soul. His eyes never leave mine as his fingers drag down the glass, leaving a faint streak, a mark that feels like a scar.

I square my shoulders, trying to steady my breathing. He wants me to panic. The thought forces me to pause, to hold his gaze, and pretend I’m not shaking inside. But Wren’s eyes glint, dark and knowing, and I get the distinct impression he can see right through me.

"If you don't come out, pretty Ballerina." His voice cuts through the glass, clear and terrifying. "I'm coming in. Even if I have to break the window to do it."

My fingers curl into fists. “You wouldn’t.”

His smile deepens, turns almost playful. “Wouldn’t I?” He steps back, hands pushing into his pockets, but there’s no mistaking the threat in his posture. “Maybe I’ll just have another chat with Daddy dearest instead. Tell him all about your little dance performances.”

My heart stops. If Dad finds out about the dancing—about how I've been lying about staying after school to study …

"Wait!" My hands fumble with the window latch, fingers clumsy but determined.

The window opens with a faint squeak that sounds deafening in the quiet night. Before I can change my mind, I swing my legs over the sill. The ground isn't far—one small mercy of living on the first floor—but my bare feet still sting when they hit the cold concrete.

Wren's hand closes around my arm the instant I straighten, his grip like iron. I try to pull free. His fingers tighten.

"Good girl." His voice drips with satisfaction. The praise sends an unwanted shiver down my spine. "For a minute there, I thought I'd have to make good on my threat."

"What do you want?" My voice is low, but I’m proud of how steady it is. I meet his gaze head-on, fighting not to look away.

His laugh is soft, almost mocking. "Haven't you figured it out yet?" His grip tightens as he pulls me deeper into the shadows, his fingers digging into my skin. "What I want is too long a list to share standing out here."

“Then why are you here? Why have you dragged me out into the street?”

Wren’s eyes narrow. “Oh, we’re not staying here.” He inclines his head toward the road.

I follow his gaze and see a black car idling at the end of the street. Even from here, I can make out two figures inside.

My heart skips a beat. “Who is in the car?”

“You’ll find out.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Of course you are. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

“What if I scream? ”

He laughs. “Go ahead.”

I glance at the car again. My pulse thunders in my ears. I shouldn't have come out. I've made a terrible mistake.