"Fear is only as deep as the mind allows." - Japanese Proverb

Veronica

The crimson roses mocked me from the pristine white countertop. Such vibrant, beautiful things, yet they felt like a threat, a violation. They were a stark reminder that my carefully constructed world, the one I’d built to keep the darkness at bay, was crumbling. Someone had breached my sanctuary, slipped past the doorman, the security system… they were in my space, leaving a chilling calling card. And the fear, a cold, insidious dread I hadn’t felt in years, was back.

When Saint arrived, his presence was a balm to my frayed nerves. Just seeing him, his strong, steady presence, brought a sense of calm I desperately needed. He was all business, his eyes scanning the loft, assessing, and strategizing. He asked about the roses and checked for any sign of intrusion, his movements precise and purposeful. He was a protector, a guardian, and in that moment, I clung to that.

He suggested I stay at the Regency, his hotel. The idea of leaving my home, my space, felt like an admission of defeat, a surrender to the fear. But I knew he was right. Staying here wasn’t safe. Not anymore. Not with the roses, not with the feeling of being watched, the unsettling sense that someone was playing a cruel game with me.

I called Marcus, my dearest friend, my confidante. He was always there for me, a steady hand in the chaos of my life. We’d been through so much together, shared secrets and laughter, tears, and triumphs. He was more than just someone I worked with; he was family. I told him about the roses, the break-in, the fear that was clawing its way back into my heart. He listened patiently, his voice calm and reassuring, but I could hear the underlying concern. He promised to look into it, to use his resources to find out who was behind this intrusion.

Saint drove me to the Regency. The silence in the car was heavy with unspoken questions, with the weight of the unknown. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of color, my mind replaying the events of the evening, the roses, the fear, the chilling realization that I was no longer safe.

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At the hotel, Saint made sure my suite was next to his. It was a subtle gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t just protecting me; he was watching over me, a silent guardian against the darkness that was circling.

After he spoke with Marcus, he came back to my room. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to control the trembling that threatened to overwhelm me. He sat beside me, his presence a comforting weight. He asked if I was hungry and if I wanted to get some dinner downstairs. The thought of food was unappealing, but I knew I needed to eat something. For strength, for clarity, for the sake of normalcy in a world that had suddenly turned upside down.

I looked up at him then, my eyes searching his, seeking answers, seeking reassurance. He was so strong, so capable, so in control. He made me feel safe and protected. And in that moment, I desperately wanted to believe that he had all the answers, that he could make everything right again. That he could banish the fear, the darkness, the feeling of being hunted.

"Yes," I said finally, my voice barely a whisper. "I suppose I could eat something."

"Good," he said, standing up. "Let's go. And Veronica…" He paused, his gaze meeting mine, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Try not to worry. We'll figure this out."

I nodded, trying to force a smile, trying to believe him. But the fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, a whisper in the back of my mind that told me this was just the beginning. That the darkness was closing in, and that I was running out of places to hide.

We went downstairs to the hotel’s Italian restaurant. The warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in my bones. The aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air, a comforting scent that momentarily distracted me from my worries. We sat at a quiet table in the corner, and even though the fear was still lurking, I found myself relaxing a little in Saint’s company. He had a way of putting me at ease of making me feel like everything was going to be alright.

We talked about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily between us. He told me about a case he was working on, a complex web of deceit and betrayal, and I listened intently, fascinated by the way his mind worked, the way he pieced together the fragments of information to uncover the truth. I shared some anecdotes about my career, the challenges and rewards of the modeling world, the long hours, the constant scrutiny, and the pressure to maintain a certain image. He listened with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions about the industry, about the creative process, about the toll it took on a person.

It was a pleasant, energy-charged conversation, a welcome distraction from the fear and uncertainty that had plagued me all evening. For a brief moment, I almost forgot about the roses, about the feeling of being watched, about the darkness that was closing in. Almost.