The delivery

The next night, after another day of juggling work and my mounting obsession with Chris, I stumbled home, exhausted and ready to unwind. But as I reached for my laptop, ready to escape into the digital world, I was met with a frustrating message: "No internet connection."

My WiFi was down again. I stormed to my window, my anger flaring. There he was, sitting on the bench across the street, his face illuminated by the soft glow of his laptop screen. He smiled the moment he saw me, his eyes twinkling with amusement, as if he had been waiting for me to look out.

"How did you enter my room?" I demanded, my voice sharp with anger. "And why break the WiFi?"

"If I can't use it, then no one else can," he said, his voice playful, his smirk widening. He stood up, his silhouette outlined against the moonlit sky, and turned to leave.

"Don't you dare come back here!" I shouted, my anger boiling over. "I'm warning you, Chris. Stay away from me."

He didn't reply, just continued walking away, his laughter echoing through the night.

Later that night, as I vented my frustrations to Emily on video call, I couldn't help but feel a surge of despair.

"Chris is a jerk," I said, my voice filled with frustration. "I've been completely deceived by his beauty. He's playing me for a fool."

"Oh, Ava," Emily said, her voice laced with concern. "I'll put you in my prayers tonight. You really need it." She paused for a moment, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and amusement. "Chris, Chris, Chris. Just show him the bitch you are made of. Don't let him mess with you and go free. Okay?"

"Good night, love you," she said, ending the call with a warm smile that couldn't quite mask the worry in her eyes.

I was exhausted, my mind buzzing with a mix of anger and frustration.

The early morning light streamed through my window, casting long shadows across my room as I prepared for work. The insistent ringing of the doorbell startled me, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Dad, please can you get the door?" I shouted, my voice echoing through the empty house.

"Ava, someone delivered something for you. A delivery man is here for you," my dad's voice came back, muffled by the distance.

"A delivery guy? But I didn't order anything." Confusion clouded my mind, but curiosity piqued, I went downstairs.

"Are you Miss Ava?" The delivery man asked, his voice polite.

"Yes," I replied, my gaze fixed on the package he held. "Okay, please sign this here."

I signed, my mind racing, wondering what the package could be. He dropped it at my feet and left, his departure leaving me with a feeling of anticipation and a touch of apprehension. I opened the box, revealing a brand new WiFi router, the latest model. A small note, tucked beneath the packaging, caught my attention. It was addressed to me, written in Chris's familiar hand: "From Chris to Ava." On the other side of the note, another phrase was scrawled in bold letters: "This is what we call WiFi."

I laughed, a nervous, breathless sound. He was playing with me, challenging me, pushing me to the edge.

I called work, explaining that I'd be late, and then, without thinking, I stormed out of the house and headed straight for Chris's place. I had never been there before, never even considered stepping foot on his property. But something inside me, a mix of anger and curiosity, propelled me forward.

I reached the gate, a grand, imposing structure that seemed to symbolize Chris's wealth and privilege. A man in his forties, dressed in a crisp uniform, approached me.

"Yes, how may I help you, ma'am?" he asked, his voice polite but wary.

"I'm here for Chris," I said, my voice firm, a lie rolling effortlessly off my tongue. "He invited me over."

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his hand resting on a small walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. "Please wait here, ma'am. I'll confirm with Mr. Chris."

But I couldn't wait. I couldn't bear the thought of being held back any longer. I stormed through the gate, ignoring the man's protests, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Chris! Chris!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the vast expanse of his compound.

"You can't do that here, ma'am!" The man exclaimed, his voice laced with alarm. "Please, stay calm."

But I was beyond calm. I was fueled by a mix of anger, curiosity, and a need to confront him.

From above, Chris's voice, cool and calm, came through the window. "Leave her be," he said, his words directed to the guard. "The door is open."

A young woman, her face a mask of indifference, hurried towards me, unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

"Mr. Chris is upstairs," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "His room is on the left."

She paused, her gaze fixed on me, as if waiting for me to move.

"His parents aren't home," she added, her voice a mere whisper.

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the stairway, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. I didn't hesitate, didn't look back. I climbed the stairs, my steps echoing in the silence.

I reached his room, my hand hovering over the doorknob. He was waiting for me. I could feel it.

I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the handle. I pushed the door open and walked in, my heart pounding, my senses on high alert.

And there he was, standing in the middle of the room, his shirtless torso bathed in the warm sunlight streaming through the window. His shoulders were broad and defined, his muscles taut and sculpted.

"Damn," I thought, momentarily distracted by the sight of his physique. But I quickly pulled myself back. I didn't come for this. Not today. Not now.

"Chris," I said, my voice steady, my eyes fixed on his.

He turned, his gaze meeting mine, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Ava," he said