Juliette's POV
I had just left the small corner store, the one I stopped by to grab milk, bread, and a few other odds and ends, my grocery bag swinging loosely from my wrist. The routine errand should have been quick and uneventful, not until I heard my name.
“Juliette.”
The voice cut through the lazy afternoon air like a knife. My stomach plummeted into my heels. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. I didn’t want to know, but I did anyway.
My head snapped toward the sound, heart hammering. And there he was.
Alex.
That relentless, infuriating, impossible-to-ignore stalker. Standing just beyond the corner, leaning casually against a lamppost—or at least trying to look casual—with another man I didn’t know. He had a triangle tattoo running down his forearm. Smoking. Both of them
