135. Twisted Game

Third Person's POV:

"500 DOLLARS!" Roses eyes bugs out and she drops the fabric back as if it burned her palm.

"What are they, made of vibranium or something?" she whispers moving along the aisle.

The scent of fabric softener and wood polish filled the cozy little home decor store, wrapping around Rose like a warm hug as she ran her fingers across the thick curtains lining the shelves.

Deep emerald, royal blue, wine red—she needed the thickest, heaviest drapes possible, the kind that would block out every last ray of moonlight and, more importantly, any prying eyes. 

She was hoping to put these in her room. The rest of the house will have to do with a more light and flowy materials. 

For what she's planning and for the amount in her purse would buy, this is the way to go.

She was lost in thought, debating between a rich velvet or a blackout-lined damask, when a warm, friendly voice broke through her concentration.

"So, are you moving in with your boyfriend or is he moving in with you?"

Rose blinked, turning to face the middle-aged woman standing beside her. A measuring tape draped around her neck, and a pencil was tucked behind her ear, ready for action.

She looked at Rose expectantly, a polite yet mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Pardon me?" Rose asked, not quite catching the question.

"Oh, I didn't mean to pry," the woman said quickly, a nervous chuckle escaping.

"It's just not every day I see a girl your age shopping for enough curtains to cover an entire house on a Friday night. Figured you might be settling in with someone special instead of… well, being out partying like the rest of the young folks."

Rose let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "No need to apologize. I don't mind at all." She hesitated before adding, "And nope, no boyfriend. Just… moving into a new place and wanting to make it feel a little more like home."

She nodded looking around.

Rose can tell the woman wanted to make conversation but was probably too nervous, expecting to be looked down upon by the generational gap between them.

Rose took pity, "So this is all your own work?"

The woman's face lit up, clearly relieved that Rose wasn't offended. "Oh, well, that's lovely! And yes, I sew them all myself. It's been my passion for years—choosing the fabrics, stitching them just right. Running this place is hard work, but I love it."

As she spoke, Rose listened quietly, occasionally nodding as a strange sense of peace settling over her.

There was something so simple, so wonderfully normal about this woman's life.

Running a shop, creating something with her hands, being satisfied with the small joys of it all.

No lingering shadows. No cryptic stalkers. No ominous roses left on windowsills. Just curtains. Beautiful, practical curtains.

If only her life were so simple.

"Alright, Margarette; see you around." Rose said her goodbye to unconventional kinship she had suddenly made with a middle aged store owner.

After making her selections and paying for her purchases, Rose returned home, dumping her bags in the living room with a sigh.

The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the buzz of the little shop. She misses her uncle.

It had been almost a week since that Night, and she had barely stepped into the living room since.

Not since he had burned her curtains to ash.

A fresh wave of irritation rolled through her.

Who even does that? Stalking was one thing, but home decor sabotage? 

Absolutely uncalled for. "Wait till Aria hears about this; you'll be in a load of trouble, jackass." She whispers to herself shaking her head.

After the fire in the living room went out on it's own, Rose went through the whole house and witnessed what she was dreading. T

he same thing had happened with all the curtains of every window in the house.

She had to spend the entire next day scrubbing soot from her floors, muttering every curse she knew under her breath at the one who did this.

And now, here she was, about to put up new curtains just so he could do it again.

She climbed onto the couch, hammer and nails in hand, determined to get this done before sundown.

She's been mostly confined to her room ever since the curtain incident. The windows in her room were bare too but at least she can avoid getting near them and seeing him hanging around like a douche bag.

She doesn't know how much of the windows give view inside her room. However, Rose often found him by the tree line these nights, so she concurs a good amount from that vantage point. 

She had gotten used to avoiding the windows, to pretending he didn't exist. But tonight… tonight, she had a plan.

She will have to deal with him tonight.

Just the thought brought a particularly aggressive hammer strike that ended up hitting her finger instead of the nail. That sent pain jolting up her hand.

"Holy mother of—" she hissed, immediately shoving her injured finger into her mouth. It throbbed, the sting sharp enough to make her eyes water. "Oh, fantastic. Love that for me."

Clutching her hand to her chest, she flopped onto the couch, glaring at the half-hung curtain. As if just the thought of her plans is bringing destruction to her already.

Her gaze drifted to the darkening sky outside. Sunset was approaching. Soon, he would be there. As inevitable as the tide, as relentless as her own curiosity.

She sighed, rubbing her temples.

"This can't keep going," she muttered to herself.

She had spent the whole week convincing herself that she didn't need to confront him.

That ignoring him was the best option. That whatever game he was playing, she wouldn't participate. 

But how can she not when he has made her a part of his sick game. An exclusive part.

Besides, she has already made the mistake of playing along when she decided to act as a stripper for him that night.

And not mention that smile which has been constantly plaguing her mind for the past week..

It had been haunting her.

That slow, knowing smile, sharp around the edges, his lips parting just enough to reveal those unnervingly perfect teeth.

Teeth that included slightly elongated canines. Giving the otherwise innocent smile a touch of evil intent. 

Just noticeable enough to make her stomach twist in unease.

Who is she fooling, there is nothing innocent about that man. He is a bona fide psychopath.

And now, every time someone so much as smiled at her in passing, her brain betrayed her by flashing back to his smile.

The one that told her she was prey and he was the predator. And that, this is somehow his twisted way of enjoying every second of the chase.

She shook her head, determined.

No more hiding. No more pretending.

Tonight, she would talk to him. She needs to. The only thing she is worried about is that either it would make things better or absolute worse.

Would he even answer? Would he laugh? Ignore her? Who knew?

But she had to try. Because if she didn't set the rules of this strange, twisted game soon, she had a feeling he would.

And something told her she wouldn't wanna play by his rules.