I wish I could say I went straight to the police. Aren’t they supposed to protect women like me from men like him?


    But I saw my mom try that enough growing up. It never went well for her. Why would it go well for me?


    Even more embarrassing is that my second thought was to call Oleg. I can only imagine how horribly that would turn out.


    ME: Oleg, I’m so sorry to call like this. But my psycho ex, the one that framed me and caused our break up—yeah, that one. He cornered me again and pped the shit out of me for refusing to pass your child off as his.


    OLEG: Get the fuck away from me, liar.


    ME: Please don’t do this. I care about you.


    OLEG: Your mistake. Our contract was never about feelings. I wanted your womb, not your heart.


    ME: But what about your baby?


    OLEG: How do I even know it’s mine? For all I know, this is another ploy that you’ve cooked up with your boyfriend to try to steal from me. You’re no princess. You’re just a peasant ying pretend.


    Back at Mara’s, I pace up and down, feeling as though the noose around my neck is tightening.


    I know with absolute certainty now that Drew isn’t just going to let me go. If another man’s baby wasn’t enough to make him lose interest, I’m not sure what will.


    I jump a foot when my phone buzzes with an iing message.


    DREW: Hey, that went really wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.


    My heart clunks loudly against my ribcage. This must be a new record. He doesn’t usually apologize until the next morning.


    I probably should leave well enough alone. Ignore him. Block him. Delete the fucker from my phone and my life.


    But since that hasn’t worked for me so far, I try a different approach.


    SUTTON: You didn’t mean to hit me? So your hand just slipped, is that it? Or maybe my face was just in the way?


    DREW: Don’t be a child. You were goading me. My anger got the better of me.


    It’s ssic Drew. An apology with a side of me.


    DREW: The least you can do now is forgive me.


    SUTTON: Uh-huh. And while we’re at it, what else would you like from me?


    He swerves around the sarcasm, his responseing as fast as his getaway back in the alley.


    DREW: I’m not a petty person, Sutton. I still want you back. But I’ve thought about it and I have conditions.


    The man must genuinely be a few screws loose in the head. He seems to think, even after everything that’s happened, that I’m the one in need of saving.


    That he’s the knight in shining armor, ready to make sacrifices to save me.


    I sink to the sofa as the three little typing dots keep running in quick session at the bottom of the thread.


    At this stage, I’m genuinely curious about what conditions he’s going to ask for.


    My undying loyalty, perhaps?


    My life’s blood?


    A massive tattoo of his face?


    DREW: It’s really simple, baby, and it’s in your best interests toply. We can have everything. We can be happy. All you have to do is get rid of the baby.


    I go cold the instant I read those horrifying words.


    DREW: You can live with me, in our townhouse. It’s where you belong. We can finally have the life we always nned on having. I want you to move in there as soon as possible. Today, in fact.


    He’s insane, is all I can think.


    But his messages areing in fast now, sending shock after shock ripping down my spine.


    I can exin away his madness, call him insane,ugh in his face. But every single word of his texts resonates with seriousness.


    I mayugh—but he sure as hell isn’t joking.


    DREW: I’ll give you an hour to get your things together.


    SUTTON: Or what?


    DREW: Or I will go straight to Pavlov Industries and demand to speak to that scarred beast you seem to care so much about. I will give him the sex tapes I made of us during our time together.


    Goosebumps riddle my body. He’s lying; he has to be. There is no way he has sex tapes of the two of us.


    SUTTON: You filmed us? Without my consent?


    DREW: Don’t worry, baby—your performance is excellent.


    SUTTON: What is wrong with you? What is the point of this?


    DREW: If he doesn’t pay me off for those sex tapes, then I’ll release them to the public and get the price I want anyway. But if you just listen to me now, no one has to see them. Except us, of course. ??


    My stomach roils with disgust.


    Somehow, he’s got me backed into a corner. A corner I might have cowered into if he hadn’t just ordered me to get rid of my baby.


    I will not do that.


    Not for him.


    Not for Oleg.


    Not for anyone.


    Stumbling over to the kitchen sink, I run the tap as cold as it will go and ssh water onto my face. It helps a bit, so I do it again, and again.


    When I finally lift my gaze to the window, my eyes fall on a familiar Ford Mustang parked across the street.


    Flying upright, I realize that I’m staring right at Drew. He’s leaning against the passenger door of the Mustang, staring right up at my window.


    We make eye contact.


    He smiles.


    Then he starts typing into his phone.


    DREW: What’s it gonna be, baby?


    DREW: I’ll wait for your answer out here. Don’t take too long.


    I’m far away from the window but it still feels like he can see me, whatever I do. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do or where I go—Drew Anton will follow me like a bad smell.


    But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.


    I have to—for my baby’s sake.


    I sneak downstairs to the ground floor of Mara’s apartment building. Then I take the back way out, painfully aware that this is the second time in a week that I’ve been forced to leave my refuge.


    Maybe that’s my lot in life.


    Maybe I’m destined to spend it running.