The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds, pale and hesitant, as if it, too, sensed the tension that had settled over Sheila’s apartment. She sat on the edge of her bed, hands clutching the duvet, mind spinning with the dread she had tried so hard to suppress. The finals were days away, and yet it wasn’t the anticipation of the game that gnawed at her—it was something far more insidious.
Her phone buzzed again, insistent. Another notification, another reminder that the world she had tried to step away from was relentless. She hesitated before unlocking it.
A message. From an unknown number.
“You think you can have him? Think again, Sheila. Back off or face the consequences.”
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She knew immediately who it was. Elena. Atticus’s ex.
