Barking Up the Wrong Neighbor

CHAPTER THREE

Roman leaned his head against his arms on the doorframe of his apartment, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t meant to linger, hadn’t intended to eavesdrop—but he couldn’t move. The soft, panicked whispers from the apartment next door had gripped him in a way he couldn’t explain.

It’s not him… it’s not him…

For a brief moment, his jaw tightened further, and his fists clenched at his sides. A surge of anger flared—at whoever had hurt her in the past, at the unfairness of it, at the situation he was powerless to change in that moment. It was fleeting, just a flash, but it left him more rigid, more alert.

Roman’s next instinct was to ignore it. This wasn’t his problem, not really. But something about the way she clutched that little puppy, her body shaking even under the soft fur, tugged at something in him he didn’t want to admit. Concern. Curiosity. Maybe both.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, reminding himself to stay calm, to maintain distance. He wasn’t supposed to care—wasn’t supposed to let himself get involved. But the image of her on the couch, clutching that tiny Newfoundland puppy like it was her lifeline, wouldn’t leave his mind.

He imagined the way her small frame shook slightly under Killian’s weight, how her fingers tightened in the soft fur as if holding on to something solid in the midst of her panic. The thought made his chest tighten in a way that surprised him.

She’s… vulnerable. And she’s not hiding it completely.

Roman’s gaze flicked to the door, listening as her whispers continued, small, shaky, and full of fear.

It’s not him… it’s not him… it’s not him…

Her voice trembled, breaking occasionally, uneven breaths punctuating the words. She repeated them over and over, as if saying it enough times could make the memories fade. The sound made his stomach knot and his fists clench again, frustration sparking at the thought of anyone who had ever hurt her.

He shifted his weight, stepping back slightly into the shadows, but he stayed close enough to hear every word. He could see her in his mind’s eye: curled on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, Killian tucked under her chin, trembling softly.

Roman’s eyes narrowed as he processed the disparity. He had met her yesterday in the hallway—bright, confident, mischievous, the kind of person who seemed untouchable, unshakable. And now… this version of her, shaking, whispering to herself, small and fragile—it was almost impossible to reconcile with the person he had met.

Why the sudden shift?

He swallowed, fighting the urge to push open her door and step inside. He knew that wasn’t his place. He wasn’t here to save anyone. He wasn’t some kind of knight. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how tightly she clutched the puppy, how her shoulders quivered with each whispered phrase.

He leaned closer to the door, just enough to hear the faint rustle of her trembling. Killian yipped softly, nudging her hand, and she murmured soothingly in response. Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. She’s grounding herself on that little dog… and it’s working, somehow.

Roman’s mind raced. He wanted to knock, to tell her it was okay, to do something—anything—to ease the tension in her voice and body. But he knew better than to cross that boundary. Not yet. Instead, he remained rooted to the doorframe, observing, measuring, thinking.

There’s something about her… something deep. She’s hiding more than I can see.

His jaw tightened again as he tried to rationalize it. He wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to think about the neighbor beyond her occasional chaos and noise. But now… now he couldn’t. He found himself listening intently, noticing the subtle changes in her breathing, the way Killian’s small weight shifted against her chest, the slight trembling of her legs.

He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that she affected him this way, that a panic attack in the next apartment could twist his chest like this. Yet he couldn’t move away. He couldn’t leave.

She’s not the same person she was yesterday. And I need to know why.

The whispers continued, soft and repetitive: It’s not him… it’s not him… it’s not him…

Roman’s fists unclenched, though his tension didn’t ease. He stayed there, watching, listening, letting her vulnerability sink in, knowing that this strange, shaken, warm, chaotic little neighbor had already managed to pierce the walls he had carefully built around himself.

And as her soft, shaky breathing slowly began to even out, he realized, with a begrudging awareness, that he was not going to stop thinking about her anytime soon.

As he continued to stay where his feet had grounded him , leaning against the doorframe, letting his gaze drift toward the faint shadows behind the frosted glass of June’s living room. Killian yipped softly again, and he realized the puppy was a lifeline for her, something solid in the storm of her panic.

“It’s not him… it’s not him…” The phrase repeated in his mind, like a broken record he couldn’t turn off.

Who was him? Roman didn’t know, but something about the tone—fragile, trembling, terrified—made him uneasy in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel. He scanned the apartment, imagining what kind of person could make someone like June fear the world so much that a simple knock at her door could trigger this reaction.

An ex? A stalker? Someone from the past?

His jaw clenched again. Roman wasn’t one to let himself get emotionally involved, but there was a pull, a gnawing need to understand her pain. He couldn’t help but replay their first encounter in the hallway—the bright, confident woman who had laughed at his grumpiness, teasing him with easy charm. The contrast was stark.

Why does she act like that around me now? he wondered.

He leaned a little closer to the door, careful not to make a sound, listening to the soft breathing that had begun to settle into shallow, uneven rhythms. Roman’s mind raced through possibilities.

Maybe it’s an ex… maybe it’s a stalker… maybe it’s someone who hurt her physically. Or emotionally.

He felt a flash of anger—he didn’t even know the person, and yet the idea that anyone could have made her feel this small, this frightened, made his fists clench again. He forced himself to breathe, running a hand over his face.

Roman took note of every small detail: the way she kept Killian close, the way her hands shook slightly, the soft murmur of words he couldn’t hear completely, the subtle tremor in her legs. Each detail was a clue, a puzzle he couldn’t yet solve.

And the question is… do I have any right to know?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. No. But his curiosity wouldn’t leave him alone. Something about her—her vulnerability, her warmth, the small chaos she carried with her like a shield—demanded his attention.

Roman stepped back slightly, letting the shadows of his apartment swallow him. He wasn’t going to knock. Not yet. But he would… observe. From here, quietly, cautiously. Learn what he could. Figure out who he was without crossing a line.

As her breathing slowly evened out, he exhaled. This neighbor, this strangely shaken, warm, chaotic little neighbor, was far more complicated than he had expected. And he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t leave her alone—not when the fear in her voice had cut through the walls he had so carefully built around himself.

Roman leaned back against his doorframe, muscles tense, thoughts churning. He didn’t understand her completely—not yet—but he would. Somehow.