"Savannah, good morning! Are you okay? You look… tired," Gina's voice chirped as she entered the office, balancing a tablet in one hand and a steaming coffee in the other.
Savannah barely looked up, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She'd only just dropped into her chair, heart still heavy from the night before. "Morning, Gina. Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep too well."
Gina arched a brow, concern etching her features as she placed the coffee down in front of Savannah. "Rough weekend?"
If only she knew.
Savannah nodded slowly, keeping her tone light. "Something like that. But I'm good, really. How was yours?"
"Uneventful, honestly. Binge watched trashy reality shows and tried to teach my cat to fetch." Gina grinned. "Spoiler… he's hopeless."
A small laugh escaped Savannah despite herself. That was Gina, always able to cut through the tension with her sunny presence.
"Anyway, I've got today's schedule. It's a beast. We've got two board meetings this morning, the first with the investors at nine-thirty, and then a product strategy review at eleven. After lunch, there's that PR team meeting about the charity gala next month, then your call with the London office at four. Oh, and we need to finalize the budget reports. They're expecting them by the end of the day."
Savannah groaned inwardly but kept her game face on. "Okay. Let's hit the ground running."
"You sure you're good?" Gina asked again, hesitating at the door.
"Positive," Savannah lied smoothly. "Thanks, Gina."
With a nod, Gina slipped out, leaving Savannah to exhale a long, shaky breath.
The morning blurred into a steady grind of work. Emails. Calls. Presentations. Online meetings where Savannah smiled, nodded, made decisions, all while her mind raced, haunted by those threats.
When noon came and went, she grabbed her bag and headed to the next meeting, shoulders tight, nerves raw. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to spot someone lurking in the shadows, watching.
But no one was there.
The day crawled by until finally, the office emptied, lights dimmed, and Savannah found herself alone in the quiet of her space. She didn't want to go straight home. Not yet.
I deserve something normal. Something just for me.
The restaurant she chose was small, cozy, tucked on a side street away from the usual crowds. Soft lighting. Warm wood. The hum of quiet conversation and the clink of glasses.
As she settled into her seat, a waiter appeared, offering menus with a polite smile.
"I'll just have the salmon pasta and a glass of chardonnay, thanks," she said, handing it back.
For a moment, peace almost settled over her, until her phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown number.
Her stomach dropped.
She hesitated, then opened the message.
>Nice choice. Salmon's always good. Careful, Savannah. Every move you make is seen. We can strike at any moment.
Her blood ran cold.
Eyes darted around the room. The waiter pouring water at another table. The couple in the corner laughing softly. A group of friends near the window.
Which one of you is it?
Heart hammering, she gripped the table edge, fighting the urge to run. But another voice inside urged calm.
If they wanted to do something here, they would have already. Don't let them see you panic.
She stayed. Ate slowly, barely tasting the food. Paid, left a tip with trembling fingers, and fled to the safety of her car.
Driving home, she checked her mirrors constantly, scanning for headlights that lingered too long, cars that seemed to follow. Every shadow felt menacing.
By the time she reached her building, she was exhausted from the fear. She didn't even bother undressing, just collapsed onto her bed and forced herself into restless sleep.
Morning came too soon.
Savannah stared at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing down on her. The threats. The watching. The endless questions.
She didn't want to move. Didn't want to face another day of pretending. But business wouldn't pause just because she was unraveling.
Dragging herself up, she showered, dressed in black trousers and a Lavender blouse, and tied her hair back with a shaky hand. The face in the mirror looked pale, drawn. Tired beyond words.
Doesn't matter. Show up anyway.
The office felt colder today. Or maybe that was just her.
She slumped into her chair, barely settling when her phone vibrated.
Cassian.
>Good morning, beautiful. I'm sorry I didn't check in yesterday. Things got crazy on my end. I missed you.
Her chest tightened. Despite everything, his words still had the power to soften her.
She typed back:
>It's okay. I should've checked in too. Hope you're well.
The reply was quick.
>Can I see you tonight? Dinner? I'd really like to.
Panic sparked. She couldn't. Not like this.
>I appreciate it but I really need to rest tonight. Long few days.
A pause.
>What about a massage? My treat. Just relax for a bit. You deserve it.
Fuck, he wasn't making this easy.
>Thank you, Cassian. Really. But I just want to be home tonight. I'm wiped out.
Another beat of silence.
>Alright. I get it. Take care of yourself, okay? Have a good day.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
>You too.
The day passed in a blur of work. Every sound made her jump. Every unknown number that called went unanswered.
By the time she got home, her nerves were frayed beyond repair. She grabbed a bottle of wine, popped it open, and drank straight from it, the bitter taste a relief.
Glass after glass blurred into one long haze until she passed out, fully clothed, heart heavy, mind spinning.