Rita POV
The morning felt ordinary, almost peaceful. I moved barefoot across the apartment, the cool tiles grounding me, as I stirred the pot on the stove. For a few moments, I allowed myself to think life could stay this quiet—that I could finally breathe without fear.
But peace is fragile.
The doorbell rang, sharp and unexpected. My chest tightened. Mark hadn't mentioned returning early. Carefully, I opened the door—and froze.
A courier stood there, holding a small, plain brown package. No note. No return address. My gut clenched.
"Is this for me?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded. "Signature, please."
I signed, hands trembling slightly, and took the package inside. My fingers lingered on the paper, hesitant. Something about it felt wrong.
I tore it open. Inside lay a small vial filled with a deep red liquid and a folded note. My heart sank before I even unfolded it.
"You survived before. Don't think you can escape again."
My blood ran cold. That handwriting—I knew it. Charles.
Before panic could fully take over, a knock sounded at the door. Mark. He entered carrying groceries, his expression cheerful… until he saw my face.
"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing the package and the vial.
I handed it to him, my hands shaking. "It's from him. Charles."
His jaw tightened. "Where did it come from?"
"Courier. No return address. And the note…" My voice faltered. "It's threatening."
Mark's calm demeanor vanished. He set the groceries down and moved closer. "Rita, you're not facing this alone. Not ever."
"I have to," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I can't let him control me anymore."
He reached for my hands, but I hesitated, instinctively pulling back. Part of me wanted comfort; another part resisted—trust wasn't easy anymore.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression darkened. A text from Mariana:
"Come to the office. Urgent. Situation needs your attention today."
I looked at him. "Family business?"
"Yes. And it can't wait. I'll handle it, but… Rita, I don't want you in danger while I'm gone."
"I've faced danger my whole life," I said, voice firmer than I felt. "I can handle this."
He studied me, silent for a long moment. Then he said quietly, "Maybe. But you won't face it alone. Not while I'm here."
I wanted to argue, to push him away—but couldn't. My chest tightened, tears threatening, as a strange mix of fear and trust settled over me.
The apartment phone rang suddenly. My stomach dropped. I hesitated, then answered.
A cold, familiar voice whispered through the line:
"Did you really think you could hide from me, Rita?"
I dropped the phone, heart hammering. Mark lunged forward, snatching the receiver.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
The line went dead.
I stepped back, panic surging, but Mark didn't release my hands. Instead, he pulled me into a protective hug, firm and unyielding.
"You thought your past was gone," he said, voice low, "but it's not. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
I wanted to resist, to push him away—but I didn't. Not this time.
"Rita," he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at me, "listen to me. You're not alone in this. Not now, not ever."
My lips trembled. "I… I don't know if I can trust anyone again."
"You can trust me," he said, his gaze steady, unwavering. "I'm not going anywhere."
I wanted to believe him, but the memory of betrayal still stung. My fingers brushed against the vial, the note crumpled beside it. What else could he do? What else had he planned?
Mark's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, jaw tightening. "I need to leave soon. Mariana says it's urgent—something about the company. I'll be gone for a while, but you'll be safe here."
"Safe?" I repeated, skepticism lacing my voice. "You don't even know what's coming."
"I know I'll protect you," he said simply. "And we'll figure out the rest together."
A silence fell between us, thick and heavy. My pulse slowed, and for a moment, I allowed myself to just stand there, leaning against him.
Then I noticed something small—he had brought me coffee. A habit, a gesture, so ordinary it almost made me laugh. I did, softly, despite the tension.
"You don't have to do this," I whispered.
"I want to," he replied. "Small comforts help when the world is trying to break you."
And maybe he was right.
Just then, a loud knock came at the door—different from the courier's. My stomach twisted. Who else could it be?
Mark's hand tightened around mine. "Stay close," he said.
I swallowed hard. Something told me this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Because Charles wasn't finished. Mark's family pressures weren't gone. And my fragile peace had just been shattered.
Yet, for the first time in years, I didn't feel entirely alone.
And that… was terrifying in a way I hadn't expected.