Meera
It's been three days since Mr. Joe dropped the bomb about the estate being sold, and my brain still refuses to accept it. Three days of acting like I'm not about to be homeless. And now, it's almost weekend, with no miracle in sight. Though, I've already packed some of my things. I've been pacing around my living room, coffee in hand, thinking of what my next move should be. My phone has been buzzing nonstop. Adrian, obviously and I've ignored every single call. I should probably block him. But a small, stupid part of me wants him to hear me say no to his face. Closure, maybe. Or vengeance. I don't even know anymore. Just then, a soft notification ping echoed from my phone. Unknown Number: You shouldn't be alone tonight.
I froze. I read it twice. Three times. No name. No emoji. No context. Just a chillingly confident statement. My heart skipped once. The logical part of me said ignore it, Meera. The other part, the one that's been restless since that night in the snow whispered what if it's him? The black car. The stranger. "Great, Meera. Now you're manifesting stalkers." I said to myself as I shoved the phone into my pocket and went to make myself dinner. Lasagna leftovers and a glass of white wine. The kitchen was dimly lit, just how I liked it. I tried to shake off the eerie feeling, but I couldn't stop glancing at the window every few minutes. Bad habits or paranoia. At this point, both fit. Then, just as I sat at the dining table, I heard it. A car engine. Low. Smooth.
I didn't need to look, I already knew what I'd see. I still looked anyway. But why am I so scared of this guy? I don't even take men seriously. Through the blinds, I caught a glimpse of it the same sleek black car. Headlights dimmed. Waiting. I swallowed hard. "Not again," I muttered under my breath. Before I could even think of calling anyone, my phone buzzed again. Unknown Number: You left your door unlocked. What?!
Panic rushed through me. I turned to the door immediately, it was locked. I always lock it. Always.
Then, three loud knocks echoed from the other side of the door. I nearly dropped my phone. The sound was calm. "Who's there?" I called out, trying to sound firm.
"Relax," came a voice, deep, low, controlled. "I didn't mean to scare you." That voice. That smooth, practiced tone. I knew that voice.
"Black car guy?" I asked, voice barely steady.
There was a small pause, then a quiet chuckle.
"You remember me. That's a good start."
Every rational thought screamed at me not to open the door, but curiosity overpowered fear. I opened it halfway and peeked through the small crack. He stood there tall, perfectly put together, dressed in a dark coat that probably cost more than my car. He wasn't smiling this time, just watching me with eyes that were too calm for someone who'd just scared me half to death.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.
"I wanted to apologize," he said, tone smooth but careful. "For the other night. I was..inappropriate."
"Oh, so you track women down to apologize after stalking and scaring them to death?" I crossed my arms, forcing myself to sound brave.
"I had my ways of finding you," he said, ignoring my sarcasm completely. "Don't worry, I'm not a threat."
"You just show up at my door in the dark," I shot back. "Definitely not threatening."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "If I wanted to hurt you, Meera, I wouldn't be standing on your doorstep."
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. Because of how easily it rolled off his tongue. Like he'd said it before, in another life.
"How do you know my name?" I asked quietly.
He gave a half-smile. "Let's just say I know a lot more than that."
My mind went blank. "That's not helping your case."
His gaze softened. "I'm sorry. Truly. I came to talk about something else, something important."
"Which is?"
"The estate."
My heart nearly stopped. "What about it?"
"I'm the new owner."
Silence fell heavy between us. I stared at him, completely thrown off. "You?" I whispered. "Are you joking?" He stepped a little closer, his cologne subtly filling the air, expensive, clean, masculine.
"I don't joke about millions, Meera."
That name again. My pulse raced, confusion swirling with anger. "So let me guess, you're Tobias Emris Moretti."
He smiled faintly. I blinked, stepping back a little. "You're the reason I'm about to lose my place."
He looked at me, not arrogantly but with something that looked a lot like regret.
"You're not losing it. You're being moved."
"Oh, that makes it better," I said, folding my arms. "You know, you could've just called since you have all my personal information instead of doing the whole stalker routine."
His lips twitched the faintest hint of a smirk. "You wouldn't have picked up." He wasn't wrong.
I studied him quietly. He was older than I'd thought, maybe early thirties, mid-thirties at most. Or maybe I'm just guessing wrong. Sharp jawline, eyes too intense to belong to a man who sleeps peacefully. He didn't look like a spoiled billionaire's son. He looked like someone who'd learned control the hard way.
"So, what do you want from me?" I asked finally.
His gaze lingered. "Dinner."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Dinner," he repeated, calm as ever. "Tomorrow night. Eight. I'll pick you up."
I laughed, partly from disbelief, partly from nerves. "You expect me to have dinner with the man trying to evict me?"
"You're not being evicted," he said softly. "You're being introduced to something better."
I stared at him, half-annoyed, half-fascinated. "You've got some nerve."
"And you've got fire," he replied easily. "I like that."
Before I could say another word, he turned and walked toward his car. The headlights came alive, washing the snow in white light. He didn't look back, just opened the driver's door and paused briefly. "Eight o'clock, Meera," he called out. "Don't be late."
And then his car sped off. I stood at my doorway for a full minute, stunned, staring at the tire marks in the snow until they vanished in the distance. Wished Mrs. Walker didn't see that, because I'd be the talk of the town. My hands were still trembling slightly, my heart still trying to process what had just happened. Tobias Emris Moretti. Billionaire, estate buyer, mystery man, had shown up at my door, to ask me to dinner. What the hell just happened? I closed the door slowly and leaned against it, exhaling sharply. My whole body felt wired from something else. I went to bed that night replaying every word, every look. And somewhere between half-asleep and restless, I admitted it. I wanted to see him again.
******
Morning came too fast. My alarm blared like it had a personal grudge against me. I groaned, rolled out of bed, and made coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead. All day, I tried not to think about him. Tobias. But his name kept echoing like a song stuck in my head. My imagination, as usual, refused to behave, painting scenarios I shouldn't even entertain. By evening, I'd convinced myself not to go. I even picked out my most unflattering sweatpants, just to prove I meant it. And then, 7:59 p.m. A car horn. I peered through the blinds. There it was, the black car again, parked right in front of my house, looking like it belonged in a movie. My phone buzzed. A new number saying "You'd look great in black". Tobias's doing
I changed into a black dress minutes later. A little makeup and a red lipstick. Made my hair into a tight bun. His car horned, again.
What the actual fuck? I grabbed my coat, took a deep breath, and stepped outside. He was leaning casually against the car, a faint smirk playing on his lips when he saw me. "You came," he said.
"I shouldn't have," I muttered, walking past him.
"But apparently, I like bad decisions."
He opened the passenger door for me. "Then you're in good company." As I got in, I couldn't help but glance at him, his watch glinting under the streetlights, the faint stubble along his jaw, the way he smelled like cedar and quiet danger. Everything about him screamed power, but not the loud kind. The kind that didn't need to raise its voice. He got in beside me, started the car, and the city lights melted away as we drove into the night.
I didn't ask where we were going. I didn't want to know, not yet. After a while, I spoke. "So, why me?"
He glanced sideways. "What makes you think it's about you?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said dryly. "Maybe because you tracked down my address and showed up at my house like Batman. It must have been easy for you getting my number"
He laughed softly, a sound that sent goosebumps down my skin. "You're not easy to ignore, Meera."
I didn't reply. I didn't need to. My silence said enough. When the car finally stopped, I looked out and froze. We weren't at a restaurant. We were at a glass-walled mansion overlooking the frozen lake, sleek, modern, breathtaking. Warm light spilled from the inside, reflecting on the snow.
"This is where I live," he said, stepping out. Of course it was. He extended a hand toward me. "You'll be safe here, I promise."
I hesitated, then took it, because I was too curious not to. As we entered, I couldn't help but notice how the place felt. Every detail was curated but lived in. He led me to a table set for two, complete with candles and red wine. The food smelled incredible. Lasagna, again. Of course. "Did you make this?" I asked, incredulous.
He smiled. "I bake better than I buy." I had to admit, his confidence was intoxicating. But just as I sat, my phone buzzed. I'm was so frustrated. I glanced down. Unknown Number: He's not who you think he is. My heart stopped. The message came from the same unknown number as before. I looked up at Tobias, he was watching me carefully, too carefully. He smiled slowly. "Something wrong?"
I forced a smile. "No. Nothing at all." But deep down, something doesn't feel right