Chapter 24 The silence in my apartment was thick and heavy as a blanket. For three days, it had smothered everything. I wasn't talking to him.He hadn't left.And he was acting weird. The first day, I'd been too numb to fight when he maneuvered me onto the couch, pulled me against his chest, and just held me. He turned on A Bronx Tale and buried his face in my hair while we watched. I lay there, stiff, staring at the screen. He held on like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. That afternoon, someone knocked at the door. He answered and disappeared for ten minutes. When he came back, he was holding the necklace I'd flushed-or one just like it-dangling from his fingers. It was clean, gleaming, no trace of its toilet-water baptism. "Put it on," he said, his voice rough. It wasn't a request. I refused, crossing my arms. A flash of that terrifying anger sparked in his eyes, but he banked it fast. He moved behind me, his body crowding mine, and clasped the cold metal around my neck himself. His fingers brushed my skin, and a traitorous shiver ran down my spine.Not a time to be horny. I checked myself. The second day was worse. He tried to be normal. It was the most unnerving thing I'd ever witnessed. He cooked. Cleaned. Served me. Gave me soft kisses and didn't even try for sex. His jealousy from that night never left; it was a constant. If my phone buzzed, his head would snap up from whatever he was pretending to read. Once, he picked it up off the coffee table, thumb hovering over the screen. "Who's Carla?" he asked, tone deceptively casual. "My sponsor," I said flatly, not looking up from the magazine I wasn't reading. "Call her. Ask her about counseling. You need it, weirdo." He set the phone down slowly, his expression unreadable.I put a code on it after that. That night, he came in while I was brushing my teeth, holding the phone up like it was evidence in a murder trial. "Why'd you put a fucking code on this?" Toothpaste foamed in my mouth. I leaned over the sink, spat, rinsed."Maybe if you stopped acting like a psycho, I wouldn't have to." His jaw flexed. "What are you hiding?" I laughed-short and mean. "Nothing. I did it because I knew it would piss you off." "You talking to Matteo?" The name cracked through the air like a whip. I turned to face him. "You're obsessed." He didn't deny it. Just stared at me, breathing hard, the phone still clutched in his hand like he wanted to crush it.Then he left.No words. Just gone. The next time I saw my phone, it was in pieces on the kitchen counter. Smashed screen. Bent frame. Battery removed. It looked like he'd dissected it.In its place?A brand-new phone in a sleek black box. Still sealed. I opened it and stared.There was a note tucked inside:You don't need a code. I sighed and dropped my head.This was my fault. I'd actually wanted his attention-just not this much, not after the incident at the club.I wanted to be mad longer. By the morning of the third day, the walls were closing in.I heard the shower turn on in the bathroom. The pipes groaned. This was it. My only shot. My heart jackhammered against my ribs. I moved silently, a fugitive in my own life-or maybe I was being dramatic.I didn't grab a bag. Didn't take my phone-he'd track it.I just needed out. I slid into the sneakers by the door, hands trembling as I untangled the keys to my motorcycle from the hook.The lock turned with a click that sounded like a gunshot in the silent apartment. I froze, listening.Nothing but the steady spray of the shower. I slipped out, pulling the door shut with a soft, final thud.I didn't breathe until I was on the bike, the familiar growl of the engine roaring to life. I kicked it into gear and peeled away from the curb. Looking back-There he was. Standing in the window, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping down his chest, steam curling behind him like smoke from a demon's lair.He looked like sin incarnate.And he was watching me.Jaw clenched. Eyes locked. Motionless. I laughed and threw up my middle finger without slowing down. The wind whipped my tears away as I raced across town.I skidded to a halt in front of Miyori's pristine mini-mansion, killed the engine, jumped off the bike, and ran to her door. I knocked like the police. It swung open a moment later.Miyori was dressed in yoga pants, her expression shifting from mild annoyance to alarm. She took in my wild eyes, my shaking hands, the three-day-old clothes, the nothing-but-keys clutched in my fist. "Maya? What the hell? What's wrong?" I pushed past her, leaning against the wall, chest heaving as the adrenaline crash hit me hard. I looked at my sister, my voice a raw, broken thing I barely recognized."Raziel might be even crazier than Priest." Her eyes narrowed. "You probably drove him there." She said as she walked past me, blaming me without even hearing the story. Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...