Chapter 3
1368 Words
Chapter 3
Katie's POV
Silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, nerve-tingling kind that makes your heart race like you’ve been running. I stay pressed against the wall, eyes locked on the cabin door. I’m not crazy. I heard it. That slow, deliberate scratch—like someone testing the barrier between us.
I strain my ears, holding my breath so I can hear better. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint hum of the cruise ship slicing through the sea.
My fingers hover over the door lock, but I don’t dare touch it.
Don’t be stupid, Katie. It’s probably just a kid playing around. But even as I think it, my gut says no. It wasn’t random. It was slow, steady, like they wanted me to know they were there.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and type out a message to Winfred. You here?
Three dots appear immediately, and I feel a stupid flicker of hope. Then his reply pops up: Busy. What do you need?
My jaw tightens. Oh, I don't know, maybe a little loyalty? I don’t reply. He’s not coming. I know it. He never comes when I need him.
I take a slow breath, forcing myself to think. Okay, Katie, think it through. No one saw you come here except Rogan. The hallway was empty. No reason for anyone to follow you. I walk over to the door and press my ear against it. Silence. Just silence.
Maybe I imagined it.
But I know I didn’t.
I turn on the TV, letting the low hum of voices from some cooking show fill the room. It helps—just a little. My eyes keep darting to the door, half-expecting another scratch. When none comes, I shake my head, laughing at myself under my breath. You’re being paranoid. First cruise jitters.
A knock.
My heart jumps to my throat.
It’s not the scratching sound this time. It’s a firm, steady knock—three sharp raps that echo in the quiet room. My pulse spikes so hard I feel it in my ears.
Don’t answer it.
I inch closer to the peephole, heart thudding with every step. Slowly, I press my eye against it, squinting to see.
It’s him.
Rogan.
He’s leaning against the wall next to my door, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for hours. His eyes flick toward the peephole like he knows I’m watching him. I jerk back so fast I nearly trip over my own feet.
How did he find my room?
Another knock, slower this time.
“Open up, Katie,” Rogan calls out, voice low but firm. Not loud, not urgent. Just calm. Patient. Like he knows I’ll open it eventually.
I stay quiet, barely breathing.
“I can hear you, you know,” he says, sounding amused. “Your breathing gives you away.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, voice dropping to a softer tone. “Come on, sweetheart. Open the door.”
Don’t call me sweetheart. But I’m too freaked out to say it.
“What do you want, Rogan?” I finally ask, keeping my voice steady. Or trying to.
“Just to check on you,” he says like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Saw you rush off the dance floor like you saw a ghost.”
I press my lips together, trying to think. He did see me leave, but that doesn’t explain how he knew which room was mine.
“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my distance from the door. “You can go now.”
There’s a pause. I picture him standing there, head tilted like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying.
“Suit yourself,” he says casually. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I hear the sound of his footsteps, slow and steady, fading down the hall. I wait another minute, heart still pounding. Gone. He’s gone. I press my ear to the door again, just to be sure. No footsteps. No breathing. Nothing.
Why did he come here?
I flop onto the bed, hands pressed against my face. My heart finally starts to slow, but my mind is still racing. Rogan isn’t some lovesick tourist looking for a midnight chat. He’s sharp. Watchful. The kind of man who only moves when there’s a reason.
He knew where my room was.
---
The next morning, I’m determined not to let last night ruin my vacation. I dress in a flowy sundress and head up to the breakfast buffet, telling myself I’m being dramatic. It was just a knock, Katie. Not a home invasion. The sun is already bright and warm, glinting off the water like crushed silver. The deck is packed with people—tourists in sun hats, kids running around, and couples holding hands.
Normal. Everything is normal.
I grab a plate and pile it with fruit and pastries, letting the smell of fresh coffee soothe my nerves. As I’m pouring myself a cup, a voice cuts through the air behind me.
“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last night.”
My hand jerks, spilling a splash of coffee onto the counter. I whip around, and there he is—Rogan. He’s leaning on the counter like he owns it, casual as ever in a plain white T-shirt that fits a little too perfectly across his chest.
“Mad?” I say, snatching a napkin to wipe up the mess. “No. Annoyed? Yes.”
He smirks. “You’ll have to be more specific. I annoy people in a lot of ways.”
“Stalking people to their rooms tops the list,” I say, turning to face him fully. My heart’s still beating faster than I’d like, but I’m not about to let him see that.
He raises his hands, mock innocence on his face. “Stalking is a strong word.”
“Then explain how you knew which room was mine,” I challenge, eyes locked on his.
He tilts his head, eyes flicking over me like he’s sizing me up. “It’s a small ship, Katie. People talk. It wasn’t that hard.”
“That’s not an answer,” I shoot back.
His smirk fades just a bit, his eyes narrowing with something darker. “I told you, sweetheart. I’m good at reading people.” He leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping low. “And I’m very good at finding them.”
Chills race down my spine. Not fear. No, it’s not fear.
“Why?” I ask, voice sharp now. “What do you want from me?”
He steps closer, his gaze so steady it feels like he’s looking right through me. “I told you already,” he says softly, like it’s obvious. “To help you. Your boyfriend’s a fool, Katie. You know it. I know it. But you’re still letting him ruin your trip.”
I grit my teeth, anger bubbling under my skin. He’s not wrong. Winfred has done nothing but disappoint me.
Rogan notices the shift in my expression. His eyes crinkle slightly, like he’s just won a bet.
“Come with me,” he says, stepping back and gesturing toward the deck. “There’s a poker table upstairs. High-stakes game. Might be fun to watch a few egos crumble.”
I snort. “And that’s supposed to cheer me up?”
“Watching arrogant men lose money?” He raises a brow. “You tell me.”
I hesitate, fingers tightening on my coffee cup. I could say no. I should say no. But I’m tired of being careful. Tired of playing it safe.
“Fine,” I say, setting down my plate. “Lead the way.”
His grin is slow and wicked, and for a second, I’m not sure if I just made a deal with a man or a wolf in disguise.
As we head toward the upper deck, I glance behind me, just to be sure.
No one’s there.
No footsteps.
No scratching.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something unseen is following us.
- Writer
