Divorced by the Devil Rider

CHAPTER 9 — Stalker in the Dark

The footsteps didn’t match mine.

I stopped.

They stopped too.

My stomach dropped. My knees felt hollow. I stared at my reflection in a dark storefront window, pretending to check my hair. My hand shook. I forced it into my pocket.

Nothing obvious behind me. Just the street. A flickering neon sign. A parked car with one dim headlight.

Empty. I told myself it was empty.

I started walking again.

Three steps. Four.

There.

The sound again. Soft. Controlled. Not loud enough to be a threat, but too consistent to be an accident.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag until the leather creaked. I hated that sound. It made me feel exposed.

I didn’t turn around. Turning around made it real. Turning around made me prey.

I sped up, trying to look casual. My breath was shallow. My lungs were tight.

This is stupid. I told myself. Paranoid. It was just someone else walking. It had to be.

I turned the corner toward my building. The streetlight flickered. On. Off.

For a second, the world went black. My chest constricted.

I noticed something. A piece of pink gum stuck to the pavement near the entrance. Flattened. Old.

My brain was latching onto useless details because it didn't want to process the shadow behind me.

I fumbled for my keys.

Dropped them.

The metal hit the concrete with a sharp ring. It echoed too loud in the quiet street. My fingers scrambled for them, sliding against the cold ground. I dropped them again.

“f**k,” I whispered.

My voice sounded small. Pathetic.

I grabbed the keys and forced the lock. It stuck. It always stuck.

Behind me—footsteps.

Closer. Not rushing. That was worse. Running meant panic; this was deliberate.

My throat went dry. I spun around, my shoulder hitting the doorframe.

Nothing.

The empty street. The broken headlight. The gum.

I stood there, breathing hard. I was losing it. No one was there.

Something moved. To the side. Peripheral.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I stepped back, hitting the door.

Still nothing. No face. No body. Just the heavy weight of being watched.

I shoved the door open and slipped inside, slamming it behind me. The sound boomed through the empty stairwell.

I pressed my back against the wood. Listening.

Ten seconds. Twenty.

Silence.

I forced myself up the stairs. My legs felt like lead.

Halfway up, I stopped. I thought I heard something below. Near the door.

I held my breath. Nothing.

I stayed there until my thighs started to shake. I hated it. I hated my body for betraying me.

I climbed the rest of the way, fumbling the keys again at my apartment door. The metal scraped uselessly before finally sliding in.

I pushed inside and locked it. The chain. The second lock.

I leaned my forehead against the door. The wood was cold. Solid.

Not safe. Just a cage.

I walked into the apartment. It smelled of cheap lemon cleaning spray. Artificial and sharp. It reminded me this wasn’t home. Just a place to hide.

I moved toward the window. I told myself I wasn't checking.

I was checking.

I pulled the curtain back a fraction. The street looked normal. Empty.

My chest loosened. Just a little.

I let the curtain fall.

I'm fine. Nothing happened.

A shadow moved.

My hand froze on the fabric. Slowly, I pulled it back again.

There. Across the street. Near the car with the broken headlight.

A shape. Standing too still.

My heart stuttered. I leaned closer to the glass.

The shape didn't move. It didn't approach. It just stayed there.

Watching.

I stepped back, my heel catching on the rug. I almost fell.

“Stop,” I whispered. My voice shook.

I grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Who was I going to call? There was no one. That realization hit harder than the shadow outside.

I looked at my contacts anyway. My thumb stayed over his name. I didn't tap it.

He’d made his choice. He’d left.

The shadow moved. Closer.

I dropped the curtain like it could see me through the glass. My chest ached. I backed away until my legs hit the couch.

I sat down. I pressed my hands between my knees to stop the shaking. It didn’t work.

I stared at the door. Waiting.

The silence was worse than a noise.

I stood up and walked to the kitchen. Opened a cabinet. Closed it. My brain was stalling.

I reached for a glass. My hand slipped.

It shattered.

The sound was like a gunshot. I flinched, my heart racing.

I crouched to pick up the pieces. A shard sliced my finger.

“Shit.”

I sucked in a breath, watching the blood well up.

Then—headlights flashed across the kitchen wall. Bright. Sudden.

I froze.

I stood up and walked back to the window. My heart was too loud now.

I pulled the curtain back.

A motorcycle. Matte black.

My breath caught.

The rider didn’t move. He didn’t look up. He just sat there.

Protecting. Or hunting. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

My fingers tightened on the curtain.

Why was he here? After leaving me? After watching me fall apart?

I wanted to go down there. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him to go to hell.

I didn’t move.

I let go of the curtain and stepped back. Away from the window. Away from him.

The apartment felt smaller. The walls were closing in.

I sat on the couch, staring at the door.

Outside, the engine hummed. He stayed.

I wasn’t alone anymore. And I wasn’t free either.