Chapter 3 – The Drawer
Emily didn’t leave her apartment for two days.
The screenshot circled in red lay folded on her desk, mocking her every time she glanced at it. Someone had been at her door. Someone knew her face, her profile, her private life.
It couldn’t be Alex. Could it?
She told herself it was a prank. New York was filled with creeps. Maybe an old date she’d ghosted. Maybe Mark her ex he’d always had a possessive streak. But the thought wouldn’t stick.
Because she couldn’t erase the image of Alex’s sketches. Those faces, women who looked too much like the victims.
Her phone buzzed.
Alex: “Haven’t heard from you. Did I scare you off with my cooking?”
Her thumb hovered. She should ignore him. She should call Sarah, tell her everything. But then she remembered the warmth of his smile, the way he’d listened to her like no one else ever had.
She typed back.
“Been busy. Want to meet tonight?”
~~~
He picked her up in a black sedan, sharp as always in a dark jacket and pressed shirt. His charm was effortless. He carried her bag without asking, opened doors with old-fashioned courtesy, filled the silence with easy conversation about design projects and future travel dreams.
It should have calmed her.
But Emily couldn’t shake the feeling she was stepping deeper into something she couldn’t escape.
~~~
Dinner at his loft was perfection again. Candlelight, soft music, a rich aroma of garlic and rosemary. He plated her meal like a professional chef, watching her face as though her approval mattered more than the food itself.
And maybe it should have been romantic. Maybe she should have let herself fall into the comfort he offered.
But all she could think about was the folded paper waiting at home.
Halfway through dessert, she excused herself.
“Second door on the right,” Alex said warmly when she asked for the bathroom.
She nodded, but her feet carried her in the opposite direction. Toward the bedroom.
The door creaked as she pushed it open. Moonlight spilled across the neatly made bed, shadows pooling at the edges of furniture. She stood frozen for a heartbeat, listening for footsteps.
Silence.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she crossed to the dresser. Top drawer socks, folded perfectly. Second drawer shirts, ironed and stacked. Third drawer
Her breath hitched.
Jewelry.
Dozens of pieces. Bracelets, rings, delicate necklaces tangled together like a shrine.
Emily’s fingers hovered above a thin silver locket, catching the light. She picked it up, and her stomach dropped it was engraved with initials. L.G.
Lisa Grant.
Her knees weakened. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t
“Emily?”
She spun, shoving the drawer shut with a thud. Alex stood in the doorway, brows raised.
Her throat went dry. “I I got lost.”
He looked at the dresser, then at her, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Lost in my bedroom?”
Heat burned her cheeks. “Sorry. Curiosity. Old habit.”
For a moment, silence stretched sharp as glass.
Then Alex stepped closer, expression softening. “Those were my mother’s. She passed years ago. I keep her things close.”
Emily’s stomach twisted. “Oh. I didn’t mean ”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”
But his smile was tight, his eyes unreadable.
~~~
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. He poured more wine, cracked jokes, even sketched her face on a napkin with playful exaggeration. By the time he drove her home, she felt half drunk, half dazed, her thoughts spinning.
Was she paranoid? Had she really just accused him silently of murder because of a drawer of jewelry?
At her door, he kissed her lightly, lingering just long enough to leave her unsettled.
“Goodnight, Emily,” he whispered.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breath shaking.
~~~
She couldn’t sleep.
At 2:00 a.m., her phone buzzed. She jolted upright, heart in her throat.
A new text. Unknown number.
“You’re next.”
Her hands shook as she stared at the glowing words.
And then came the sound.
A faint creak. From her living room.
Her heart pounded. She wasn’t alone.
~~~
Emily grabbed the heaviest thing within reach a ceramic vase and crept toward the sound. Her apartment was small, but in the dark every shadow loomed monstrous, every corner threatening.
She flicked the light.
Empty.
The vase slipped from her grip and shattered.
But then she saw it lying neatly on her coffee table.
A single red rose petal.
Her knees went weak. She staggered backward, nearly tripping over the shards of the vase.
Someone had been here. While she slept.
Her phone buzzed again.
“Sweet dreams.”
Emily’s scream tore from her throat, swallowed by the empty walls of her apartment.
