Harper stood at the sink, hands resting on the edge of the counter, staring blankly at the teacup in the drying rack.
The white one.
The one Ian had mentioned.
It wasn't just unnerving anymore. It was violating.
She took a deep breath and walked into the living room where Jacob was reviewing test papers.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
He looked up immediately, concerned. "Of course. What's wrong?"
Harper sat beside him and hesitated for a long beat. Then she spoke.
"I need to tell you something. And I need you to not brush it off."
Jacob set the papers down. "Okay."
She told him everything.
Not everything about Sofia—not yet—but everything she had discovered.
How Eli wasn't Eli. How his real name was Ian Mercer, a contracted IT worker who'd briefly been in her building. How he continued to show up after his job ended. How he inserted himself into her life slowly—deliberately—pretending it was coincidence.
She showed Jacob the staff record, the emails, the eerie way Ian had known private details: her tea mug, her favorite seat on the deck, things she never posted online.
"He was watching me," she said quietly. "Before we ever spoke."
Jacob sat back, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I wasn't sure at first. And honestly? I didn't want to believe it. I thought maybe I was imagining things, overreacting. But I'm not. He's… building something. A fantasy. And I'm in it."
Jacob ran a hand down his face. "Jesus, Harper."
"There's more," she said. "He's still messaging me. I stopped responding. But he's persistent."
Jacob stood and paced. "Do we call the police?"
"Not yet. Not without something concrete. Right now, we have what looks like a weird coworker story and a few unsettling texts. But I don't think he's going to stop unless we make it clear that we know what he's doing."
Jacob turned to her slowly. "You want to confront him?"
She nodded. "Together. Publicly. Somewhere neutral. No anger. Just clarity. He thinks he has control—because he's operating in the shadows. We take that away."
Jacob looked hesitant. "Harper—what if he's dangerous?"
"Then we make sure he knows we're not afraid."
Later that night, Harper sent a carefully composed message to Ian:
Harper: "Eli, I've been thinking. You're right—we should talk. One last time. There are things I need to say in person. For closure."
Harper: "Tomorrow evening. That café near the park. 6 p.m. Just you and me."
She didn't mention Jacob would be coming too.
She didn't need to.
Let Ian feel in control for one more night.
Tomorrow, that illusion would end.