My Mother's Fiance Was My Ex

Chapter Four

The voice came from the shadows of the kitchen, calm and conversational. Ryker stepped into the faint light spilling from the streetlamp outside the window, holding a glass of water as if he'd been sitting there for hours.

He didn't look like an intruder. He looked like he belonged.

"I came by to leave something for you," he said, setting the glass down on the counter with that same deliberate click. He held up a small paper bag. "You left your favorite sweater at dinner last night. I thought you might want it back before it gets cold."

He walked toward her, his steps slow and measured, stopping just outside her personal space. The smell of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper, something metallic—filled the small entryway.

"You didn't answer my texts today," he noted, his tone dropping into that low, authoritative register.

"What are you doing here and how did you get in", Sarah asked clearly annoyed.

Ryker's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. He didn't look apologetic or even particularly concerned by her tone. Instead, he reached into his pocket and produced a small, silver key, twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease.

"Your mother gave me a spare, Sarah. She wanted me to keep an eye on the place while she's busy with wedding planning." He stepped closer, his shadow stretching long across the floorboards toward her. "She thinks I'm being helpful. And I am being helpful."

He leaned against the wall beside her, his arm brushing hers—a touch that was entirely too casual, too familiar.

"As for why I'm here," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that seemed to vibrate in the small space between them.

Ryker leaned down, his face inches from hers, his gaze sweeping over her features with a possessive intensity that made her breath hitch.

"I'm here because you're not listening," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I told you we have things to discuss. You can block my number, you can tell your friends I'm a monster, you can even tell your mother I'm stalking you—but none of that changes the fact that you're mine."

He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a slow, deliberate pressure.

"We were together for two years, Sarah. You don't just get to walk away and pretend I don't exist. Not when I'm going to be your stepfather."

He straightened up, his smirk returning, cold and triumphant.

"That was two years ago okay it's in the past ok now you're getting married to my mom.. so stay away from me understood", says Sarah.

Ryker's expression didn't change. He didn't flinch at her words, didn't recoil from the venom in her voice. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he had already solved.

"The past," he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with slow contempt. "You think time works like that? You think two years of silence erases everything we were?"

He took a step closer, forcing her to either press back against the door or shrink away. He didn't move to touch her again, but his presence was heavy, suffocating.

"And you're right. I am marrying your mother. That makes me part of your life in ways you clearly haven't grasped yet." His voice dropped, turning cold and precise.

"That's why you should stay away from me", says Sarah.

Ryker let out a low, dark chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. He reached past her, his arm grazing her shoulder, and grabbed the door handle behind her. He didn't pull it shut; he just rested his hand there, effectively trapping her between his body and the door.

"Stay away from you?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper near her ear. "Sarah, I'm going to be living in the same house as you soon. I'll be at every family dinner. I'll be at every holiday. I'll be the man your mother trusts with everything."

He leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath hitting her skin.

"You think you can just draw a line and I'll respect it? You think I'm going to sit across the table from you and act like we're strangers?"

His hand on the doorframe tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"Yes, you are a stranger", says Sarah.

Ryker's jaw tightened, a single muscle twitching beneath his skin. For a moment, the calm facade cracked, replaced by something raw and hungry. He leaned in even closer, his chest almost pressing against hers, pinning her against the wood of the door.

"A stranger," he echoed, his voice barely more than a breath. "You remember the way I kiss you, Sarah. You remember how I hold you when you can't sleep. You remember every single thing we did together."

He reached up, his fingers curling around her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm—unyielding.

"A stranger doesn't know the exact way your breath catches when I touch you here." His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat. "A stranger doesn't know that you're lying right now."

His eyes searched hers, dark and unblinking.

"Don't you dare touch me", says Sarah.

Ryker's fingers froze against her skin. His eyes darkened, the smirk vanishing completely, replaced by a cold, sharp stillness.

He didn't pull away immediately. Instead, he let his hand linger for one agonizing second longer before slowly, deliberately, dropping it to his side.

"You've grown some teeth since we last spoke," he said, his voice flat and devoid of its earlier teasing. "Good. I always liked it better when you fought back."

He stepped back, finally releasing the pressure of his body against hers. The sudden absence of his warmth felt almost as intrusive as his touch had been. He straightened his jacket, smoothing out a wrinkle that wasn't there, his composure returning like a mask being slid back into place.

"I'll leave you to your evening," he said, turning toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, looking back over his shoulder at her.

"Don't look so relieved, Sarah. This isn't over."

He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. Before he left, he turned back one last time, his expression unreadable.

"Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

The door clicked shut behind him. Sarah stood in the silence of her apartment, her heart still racing, her throat still tingling where his thumb had pressed. She rushed to the door and turned the deadbolt, her hands shaking.

She went to the window and peeked through the blinds. The black sedan was gone. The street below was empty.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A text from an unknown number.

You forgot to lock your kitchen window, Sarah. You really should be more careful.

Sarah throws her phone "f**k" 😡.

The phone skidded across the hardwood floor, landing with a dull thud near the sofa. Sarah stood in the center of her apartment, chest heaving, hands curled into fists at her sides.

The silence that followed was worse than the noise. It was heavy, loaded with the realization that he had been inside her home—her sanctuary—and she hadn't even known it until he walked out of her kitchen.

She moved to the kitchen window, her footsteps frantic. She checked the latch. It was locked. She checked it again, her fingers trembling as she pulled at it, confirming it was secure.

How had he known? She had checked it before she left this morning.

She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the street. The neighborhood looked normal.

The silence of the apartment was broken by a soft, rhythmic thumping from above.

Sarah looked up. The ceiling of her unit was the top floor. There was nothing above her but the roof.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It wasn't footsteps. It was deliberate. Like someone was tapping on the roof directly over her bedroom.

Her phone, lying face-up on the floor, lit up again. A new message from the unknown number.

I told you. Don't be late tomorrow.

The tapping stopped abruptly.

Sarah stood frozen in the kitchen, the cold glass of the window still pressing against her forehead. Her eyes darted toward her bedroom door, which she had left slightly ajar.

The apartment felt different now. Smaller. Every corner held a shadow that seemed a little too deep, every creak of the floorboards a little too loud.

Sarah gets out of the house and heads to her mother's house.