UNWELCOMED STRANGER
1015 Words
Matteo arrived at the office ten minutes earlier than usual.
He needed normalcy.
Routine.
Something predictable after a night that still lingered on his skin like a secret.
The moment he stepped through the glass doors, Sophia’s voice rang out dramatically.
“Look who finally decided to show up!”
Sonia wheeled her chair around. “Boss, you look suspiciously alive for someone who ghosted us yesterday.”
Matteo dropped his keys onto the reception desk with a controlled sigh. “Good morning to you both.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes, walking closer. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing happened.”
Sonia leaned in suddenly then gasped. “Wait. What is that on your neck?”
Matteo froze.
His hand instinctively brushed his collar.
Heat crawled up his throat.
“It’s nothing,” he said quickly.
“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Sophia shot back.
“It’s a mosquito bite,” Matteo replied smoothly.
Sonia blinked. “That mosquito must bench-press.”
Matteo forced a laugh, though his heart thudded unevenly. “Can we focus on work? I’m fine. Really.”
They studied him for another moment, clearly unconvinced, but eventually backed off.
“Alright, Mr. Mysterious,” Sophia said. “Your inbox is crying.”
“Good. I like when things cry under pressure.”
He walked past them before they could respond and headed upstairs to his office.
The moment the glass door shut behind him, the smile dropped.
Silence.
He exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of memory.
The marks on his skin burned faintly under his shirt.
He moved to his desk and began sorting through paperwork. Contracts. Design drafts. Financial reports.
Routine steadied him.
He switched on the television mounted on the wall background noise, something to fill the quiet.
The news channel flashed red headlines.
BREAKING: Prominent City Politician Assassinated Late Last Night.
Matteo’s hands stilled.
The screen showed flashing lights. Police tape. Crowds gathering.
A photograph of the politician filled the screen a familiar face from billboards and charity galas.
“Authorities confirm the victim was shot at close range outside a private residence,” the reporter said. “No suspects have been identified at this time.”
Matteo stared at the screen.
Assassinated.
In this city.
So close.
He frowned slightly.
Which heartless person would do such a thing?
The city had always felt safe to him. Controlled. Civilized.
This felt different.
Cold.
Calculated.
He watched the screen a moment longer before shaking his head and lowering the volume.
Not your problem.
He returned to his paperwork.
Still, the word lingered in his mind.
Assassinated.
Something about it fell.. deliberate.
He finished reviewing a contract and signed it neatly before leaning back in his chair. His gaze drifted briefly to the window.
For a split second, he thought he saw a black car parked across the street again.
But when he blinked, it was gone.
You’re imagining things.
He rubbed his temple and forced himself back to work.
Hours passed.
Meetings filled the afternoon. Client calls. Revisions. Deadlines.
He threw himself into productivity with quiet determination.
If he kept busy enough, maybe he wouldn’t think about the man from the bar.
About the intensity in those dark eyes.
About the way he had felt wanted fiercely, unapologetically.
By early evening, exhaustion began settling into his bones.
Sophia knocked lightly and stepped in. “We’re wrapping up.”
“Good,” Matteo replied, stacking files neatly. “Send the final drafts to my email.”
Sonia appeared behind her. “You’re not disappearing again, right?”
Matteo gave them a faint smile. “I’m going home. Sleeping. Being boring.”
They laughed.
“See you tomorrow, boss.”
“See you.”
When the office finally emptied, the building felt hollow.
Too quiet.
Matteo shut down his system, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.
The drive home was uneventful.
But the news replayed in his mind.
A powerful politician.
Shot at close range.
No suspects.
The city lights blurred past his window.
Which heartless person would do that?
He parked outside his apartment building and stepped out.
The air felt colder than it had that morning.
He locked his car and walked toward the entrance.
That’s when he saw them.
Two men.
Standing near his door.
Black suits.
Broad shoulders.
Still.
They weren’t neighbors.
They weren’t delivery men.
They weren’t lost.
They were waiting.
Matteo’s steps slowed instinctively.
His heartbeat began to climb.
The men noticed him immediately.
One of them straightened slightly.
The other kept his gaze fixed on Matteo with unsettling calm.
Every instinct in Matteo’s body told him something was wrong.
He swallowed.
“Can I help you?” he called out carefully, keeping his voice steady despite the sudden dryness in his throat.
The men exchanged a brief glance.
One of them stepped forward.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
The words hit like ice water.
Expecting him?
His mind raced.
Did this have something to do with the news? The assassination? Was he in some kind of trouble?
“I think you have the wrong person,” Matteo said cautiously, taking a subtle step back.
“No mistake,” the man replied calmly.
The hallway felt smaller suddenly.
The distance between them felt suffocating.
Fear crept slowly up Matteo’s spine.
Who are these people?
And why are they at my door?
The second man adjusted his cuff.
The movement was precise,Controlled.
Matteo’s pulse roared in his ears now.
He glanced briefly toward the stairwell behind him, calculating distance.
Could he run?
Would they chase him?
His keys felt heavy in his palm.
His stomach dropped
It couldn’t be
The building lights flickered slightly as someone approached from the shadows behind the men.
Slow footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
Matteo’s breath caught in his throat.
Tension coiled tight in his chest.
And for the first time since leaving the bar
Real fear took over.
The footsteps stopped.
Right behind the men in black.
Matteo’s pulse thundered.
The air felt impossibly heavy.
And suddenly
- Writer
