Chapter 11

The night air was cool against Sam's skin as he stepped out of the supermarket, plastic bags in hand. The city lights cast a soft glow over the streets, and everything felt strangely calm. Too calm.

He glanced at his phone—one message from Ryan and one from Kate. Two missed calls from Kate. He hadn't expected a message from her, but he had hoped to see one from Elena.

He read them quickly:

**From Ryan:** "Hey bro, you okay? U did not reply. Everything okay? I also got to know she was sick, that's why you couldn't find her. I told you, don't take tension. She's fine."

**From Kate:** "Hi Sam. I'm sorry I ruined our special day. I hope you forgive me. I'm not feeling well, that's why I couldn't come. But don't worry, the doctor gave me nice medicine and an injection. I'm still recovering. Can you help again with the assignment? Pls pls pls. Monday is our last day."

Sam stared at the messages, jaw tightening.

"Sick, huh," he muttered.

Ryan's message didn't sit right. Sam knew Ryan well—too well. This wasn't concern; this was him checking if Sam had taken the bait. If Sam had found something off, Ryan knew he'd talk. The message wasn't care—it was damage control.

Kate's was worse. She skipped from an apology to asking for help like nothing had happened. No explanation. Just a smokescreen.

He didn't respond.

Because in that moment, all of it faded.

Elena's smile, her voice, her presence—those were what filled his thoughts now. Her strength despite everything. Her warmth.

He exhaled and headed home.

Just as he reached the main gate of the apartments, a sound froze him mid-step.

Shouting.

At first, it was faint—muffled by distance and the concrete walls—but then it grew clearer. Desperate. Angry.\

He didn't recognize the voice, but the tone was wrong. Threatening. Violent.

Sam's blood ran cold 

He paused.

A second voice. Clearer this time. Louder. Violent.

"Open the door, Elena! Today I want you! No one can stop me!"

Sam's mind went blank. His chest seized.

He dropped the grocery bags and sprinted. Up the stairs, skipping steps,

His mind screamed only one thing: Elena.

turning hard into the hallway—

Elena's door was busted open already. The lock shattered. The wood splintered. Someone had forced their way in.

He ran straight in.

Inside, Elena was curled in a corner of the room, her robe tight around her, her eyes wide with terror.

And the man—her stalker—stood only feet from her, his expression twisted with obsession and rage.

"HEY! YOU FUCKER! STAY AWAY FROM HER OR I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!" Sam roared.

The man froze, startled, but only for a second.

Then he turned to Sam and shouted, "You again?! You think you can take me?"

"Again"—what the hell was he talking about? Had they met before?

Sam didn't wait to find out. Fueled by rage, he lunged.

They collided in the middle of the room.

The man was strong. Brutal.

Sam staggered.

He charged at Sam without hesitation.

The first punch landed hard on Sam's jaw. His head whipped sideways.

Then another—straight to the stomach. A third hit him across the temple.

Sam fell back, stumbling into the hallway, nearly losing consciousness.

The stalker followed, grabbing him by the shirt and throwing a knee into his gut.

Sam collapsed.

The stalker kicked him—once, twice, again—relentless. One boot slammed into Sam's ribs, another into his side.

Sam grunted, unable to breathe. Blood filled his mouth.

The stalker raised his foot for one more blow—

Then—

Sirens.

A sharp, rising wail just outside the building.

The stalker froze. His head snapped toward the sound.

In the doorway stood Elena, holding her phone, hand shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I called the police," she said. "They're here."

The stalker stared at her. Rage burned in his eyes.

"This isn't over, Elena. My sweet heart. You're mine. No one will save you next time."

He turned and bolted.

Down the hallway, down the stairs. Gone.

The police reached the floor seconds later, storming in with guns drawn.

"Where is he?" one officer shouted.

Elena pointed with a trembling hand. "Downstairs! Black hoodie! Dark jeans! He ran out the back!"

Officers relayed descriptions over radios, already moving.

Another officer knelt beside Sam.

"Stay with me. Medics are on the way."

Sam coughed, trying to lift himself. "Elena..."

"She's safe," the officer said.

Elena was already next to him, dropping to her knees.

She took his hand in hers, her voice cracked. "Sorry, Sam. You had to come again. Sorry because of me—"

He cut her off, eyes soft. "It's okay, silly. It's nothing. I'm okay."

She squeezed his hand tighter.

They didn't speak after that.

They just stayed close—breathing, grounding each other.

And though the sirens still echoed outside, and officers rushed about, searching, questioning

Sam and Elena only had eyes for each other.

The chaos faded.

For now, they were safe.

Together.

And that was all that mattered.