When Vincent Ashford hung up on me, I was being cornered by a strange man at an unlit street corner.
The rain was coming down as if it meant to smash the entire city open. The ribs of my umbrella rattled violently in the wind. With one arm, I clutched the tablet I had just bought; with the other, I gripped my phone.
The footsteps behind me had followed me for an entire street.
Splash. Splash.
When I quickened my pace, he did too. When I stopped, he stopped.
My phone had only a sliver of battery left. I didn’t call the police right away. Instead, I called Vincent first.
The moment the call connected, music from a bar, laughter, and the clinking of glasses flooded into my ear.
“I’m almost at the corner,” I said, deliberately raising my voice. “Where did you park?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“What corner?” Vincent sounded impatient. “Stella, what’s wrong with you now?”
My throat tightened. From the corner of my eye, I glanced at the dark figure behind me.
“Someone’s following me.”
The other end went quiet for one second.
Then a woman’s laugh drifted close to the receiver.
“What’s wrong with her this time? It’s my birthday. Everyone’s here. Vincent, you’re not really leaving, are you?”
Yvonne Fairchild.
His “female best friend.”
The woman who could text him in the middle of the night, link arms with him, and call him by an intimate nickname as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“If there’s a shop nearby, go inside. If not, call the police,” he said. “I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive.”
Yvonne laughed softly. “Girls are always scaring themselves over nothing.”
“Vincent…”
“Enough. Stop making a scene.”
The call ended.
Rainwater streamed down from my hair, and my fingers were so cold they had gone stiff. I immediately tapped open the emergency call screen.
The number had barely gone through when a rough hand seized my arm.
The wind ripped my umbrella away. My shopping bag fell into a puddle, and muddy water splashed over the box of my new tablet.
Lightning split the night sky open.
At last, I saw the man’s face clearly.
A black raincoat. A greasy, bloated face. Eyes so sticky with desire they made my skin crawl.
“Help!”
“What are you screaming for?” He grinned. “In weather like this, who’s going to hear you?”
I raised my hand and smashed my phone toward him.
He dodged, then slapped it out of my hand and into a puddle. The last thing I could use to call for help was gone.
I kicked at him. He cursed, then shoved me hard against the wall.
My back hit the cold, damp surface, and pain exploded through me until my vision went black for a second.
He closed in, his breathing heavy. “You’ve got some fire in you. I like that.”
“Ah! Get away from me!”
The next second, two beams of headlights cut through the rain.
Before the car had even fully stopped, the rear door was pushed open. A man in a black suit stepped into the downpour, strode over in a few long steps, grabbed the man in the raincoat by the collar, and drove a fist into his face.
The dull thud mixed with thunder.
The man in the raincoat fell into the puddle. Before he could crawl up, he took another brutal kick to the stomach and finally curled into a ball.
I slid down the wall, trembling all over.
The man turned around. With the headlights behind him, I couldn’t see his face clearly.
He came closer and bent down.
“Stella.” His voice was low. “It’s me. Julian.”
I froze.
Julian Ashford.
Vincent’s uncle.
And my brother Kenneth Adams’s best friend.
After three years apart, he was still the kind of man people didn’t dare look directly at. Cold eyes, sharp features, his soaked suit clinging to his shoulders, rainwater rolling down his jaw.
“Julian…”
The moment I said his name, the string I had been holding together snapped.
I threw myself into his arms. My tears mixed with the rain, and I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe.
His hand landed on my back, very light, but steady.
“It’s all right now.”
Bennett Ashford hurried over with an umbrella. He picked up my shopping bag from the ground, then retrieved my phone from the puddle. “Miss Adams’s things are here. The phone got wet, but it still lights up.”
Julian only said, “Open the car door.”
The next second, he lifted me into his arms.
“I can walk by myself.”
He lowered his eyes to me. “Can you stand steadily?”
I shut my mouth.
Because I really couldn’t.
The car door closed, sealing the roar of the rain outside. Warm air soon filled the car, and a blanket was placed over me. Julian took a towel and began drying my hair.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head.
His gaze fell on the red marks around my wrist. The heater was on full blast, but I still felt the air around him turn cold.
“He’ll pay for this,” he said calmly.
It didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like a notice.
My phone suddenly vibrated in Bennett’s hand. He handed it over. “Miss Adams, your phone.”
I took it. Water had seeped into the screen, making it slow to respond. It took several tries before I managed to unlock it.
A group chat that had been silent for a year had suddenly come alive.
The screen was filled with photos sent by Yvonne.
She was wearing a birthday hat, most of her body pressed against Vincent as she held his arm. Vincent didn’t push her away. Instead, he lowered his head and looked into the camera with her.
Anyone who didn’t know better would probably think they were the couple.
I scrolled up.
There were photos of them cutting the cake together, her hand covering the back of his; of her holding cake to his lips, and him lowering his head to eat it.
The next photo was of the way he looked at her.