Holding her breath, she opened the second message: ‘YOUR RED DRESS MADE YOU LOOK LIKE A f*****g SLUT. I WANNA r**e YOU IN IT. I WANNA f**k YOUR p***y TIL YOU BLEED.’
She closed her eyes, afraid to read the last text. What she saw knocked the breath clean out of her chest: ‘COMING TO f**k YOU w***e. BE THERE SOON.’
She screamed and dropped the phone, then picked it up again, fumbling with the tiny little buttons. She found Greg Wallace’s number in her phone book and called him. Greg ran the private security company that her manager had hired to protect her, and he was supposed to be handling this f*****g stalker situation. It had gone on for almost six months now, and just seemed to get worse all the time. But these messages took it into a whole new realm of threat: it was clear that this
