The rain came without warning, battering the windshield like a thousand tiny fists. Eva Monroe gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles bone white against the black leather. The wipers fought valiantly but lost every battle; the world ahead was a blurred mess of shadows and trembling lights.
"Come on, Eva," she whispered to herself. "Almost there."
She glanced at the GPS one more time — the pulsing blue arrow said three minutes to destination. Three minutes, and she could lock herself behind solid doors, call for help, breathe. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her ribcage.
The headlights caught something on the side of the road — movement.
Eva flinched, instinctively swerving. Her tires screamed against the soaked asphalt. She caught a glimpse: just a branch, tumbling like a drunk marionette across the street.
Or so she told herself.
She wasn't sure anymore what was real.
The stalking had started two weeks ago — the notes under her door, the calls with no voice on the other end, the feeling of eyes on her at all hours. At first, she'd rationalized it away. Paranoia, stress from work, maybe even the leftovers of her last disastrous relationship.
But then yesterday, her apartment had been broken into.
Nothing stolen.
Just a rose, blood-red and fresh, placed on her pillow.
Tonight was supposed to be her escape — drive out of the city, find Liam, beg him for help. He had offered the mansion months ago, joking that it was the safest place this side of the state line.
Eva hadn't thought she'd ever have to take him up on it.
The iron gates loomed up ahead, just barely visible through the storm. Her heart stuttered in relief.
She pulled up, jammed her hand at the button for the intercom.
Come on, Liam. Pick up.
The speaker crackled, and for a second, only static answered. Then —
"Eva?"
His voice, warm, deep, immediately grounding her.
"It's me!" she half-sobbed into the mic. "Please — open the gate!"
A pause.
Then the gates shuddered and began to creak open.
She slammed her foot on the gas and sped inside.
The mansion was a dark, sprawling silhouette against the sky, like something pulled from an old gothic novel. Ivy crawled up the stone walls. Windows glinted like cold eyes. It should have scared her.
Instead, it was the most welcoming sight she could imagine.
Liam was already standing at the top of the stone steps when she screeched to a halt.
No umbrella, rain dripping down his black jacket, his hair plastered to his forehead. His jaw was tight, and even in the storm's roar, Eva thought she caught the raw note of worry in his voice as he shouted:
"Eva, get inside — now!"
She barely remembered throwing the door open, racing into his arms.
For a second — just a second — she let herself believe that she was safe.
His arms tightened around her.
"You're freezing," he muttered against her hair. "Jesus, Eva, what happened?"
"Inside," she gasped. "I'll tell you everything inside."
---
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, muffling the storm into a distant growl.
Eva stood in the grand foyer, dripping onto the marble floors, shivering uncontrollably. Her chest was tight, not just from the cold — but from the weight of everything she hadn't said yet.
The mansion smelled faintly of old wood, rain-soaked stone, and something comfortingly human — Liam's cologne, warm and rich, wrapping around her.
Liam peeled his jacket off and dropped it by the door without ceremony. His gray T-shirt clung to him, soaked through. Under different circumstances, she might've noticed the way it outlined the cut of his chest, the strength in his arms.
Now she barely registered anything except his hands cupping her shoulders, grounding her.
"Come here," he murmured, guiding her down the hall.
They crossed into a cozy living room — a fireplace already crackling to life, shadows dancing against high ceilings. The warmth hit her like a blanket she didn't know she needed.
Liam grabbed a thick throw blanket off the couch and draped it around her shoulders.
"Sit," he ordered gently, nodding toward the deep leather sofa. "I'll get you dry clothes."
Eva opened her mouth to protest — she needed to talk, she needed to explain — but her body overruled her. She sank down onto the sofa, the blanket heavy and comforting.
He disappeared down the hall.
In the brief silence, Eva's mind raced.
Was she stupid for coming here?
Was she dragging Liam into danger?
Was she just imagining things?
Before she could spiral deeper, Liam returned — a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm.
He tossed them beside her: a soft black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.
"Go change. There's a bathroom through there," he pointed to a hallway.
Eva nodded mutely and pushed herself to her feet.
In the mirror of the small guest bathroom, she barely recognized herself.
Her hair was wild, her mascara streaked. Her eyes — normally bright hazel — were wide, glassy with fear.
"You look like hell," she muttered at her reflection, scrubbing at her face with a towel.
The clothes Liam gave her hung loose on her frame, but they were warm. Smelled like him — cedar, clean soap, something that whispered safety.
When she returned to the living room, Liam was crouched by the fire, tossing another log into the flames.
For a second, she just stood there, watching him.
The strong line of his back.
The way his hands moved — careful, capable.
The quiet way he filled a room without even trying.
Something deep in her chest loosened.
He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her staring.
His mouth quirked — the ghost of a smile. "Feeling better?"
Eva nodded, sinking back onto the couch. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself like armor.
"Okay," he said, settling onto the coffee table across from her, elbows braced on his knees. His gaze pinned her — steady, patient, warm. "Tell me everything."
Eva took a breath. Then another.
And finally, the words came pouring out.
The first strange note under her door. The late-night phone calls. The shadow she swore she saw outside her apartment window last Thursday.
And last night — the breaking-in. The rose.
Liam listened without interrupting, his face unreadable but attentive.
When she finished, the silence stretched heavy between them, thick with unspoken fears.
"I don't know what to do," Eva admitted, voice cracking. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"You're not," Liam said instantly, fierce enough that it startled her.
He pushed off the coffee table and knelt in front of her. His hand closed over hers — warm, solid.
"You're not crazy, Eva. Someone's targeting you. And we're going to figure out who."
The "we" hit harder than she expected.
Her throat tightened. She looked down at their joined hands.
"You believe me," she whispered.
"Of course I believe you," Liam said, like it wasn't even a question. "I just wish you'd come to me sooner."
She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a noise cracked through the house — a low thud from somewhere upstairs.
Both of them froze.
Liam straightened slowly, his body tense, all instincts kicking in.
"Stay here," he said quietly.
Eva clutched the blanket tighter. "Liam —"
"I mean it. Stay."
He moved to a cabinet by the fireplace, pulling out a handgun.
Eva's stomach flipped. She hadn't even known he kept weapons in the house.
Liam caught her look and gave a grim smile.
"Mansion this big? You learn to be careful."
He disappeared up the grand staircase, footsteps silent.
Eva sat rooted on the couch, every nerve screaming.
The fire snapped and popped behind her, a harsh contrast to the suffocating stillness in the rest of the house.
Another thud — heavier this time.
Something falling?
Eva clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Minutes dragged like hours.
Finally, she heard Liam's voice drifting down:
"Clear!"
She let out a shaky breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Liam reappeared a moment later, face grim.
"Nothing. No broken windows, no signs of forced entry."
He ran a hand through his wet hair. "Could be the storm. Old houses make noise."
Eva nodded numbly, but a deep unease gnawed at her gut.
Something wasn't right.
She could feel it.
And by the way Liam kept glancing toward the darkened hallways, she knew he felt it too.
---
Liam double-checked the locks on every door and window.
Eva trailed him like a shadow, the oversized hoodie swallowing her small frame, the sleeves bunched over her fists. She hated feeling helpless, but the thought of staying downstairs alone had seemed worse.
In the kitchen, Liam scribbled something quickly on a notepad, then ripped it off and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.
"What's that?" she asked, voice a thread.
He gave her a small, crooked smile.
"My emergency plan. Neighbor's number. Security code. My number in case..." His voice trailed off. "Just a precaution."
The way he said it — low, serious — made her chest tighten.
She didn't know if she wanted to laugh, cry, or just collapse into his arms.
Instead, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and muttered, "Maybe you should just lock me in a panic room."
Liam quirked an eyebrow. "Tempting. Safer for you. But less fun for me."
Eva's cheeks heated. She wasn't sure if he meant to flirt — if this was just Liam being Liam — but it was the first time all night she'd felt something other than fear.
He walked her back into the living room and handed her a mug of tea. It smelled like cinnamon and chamomile.
God, this man even made being stalked feel... almost bearable.
"You're staying here tonight," he said, no room for argument in his voice.
Eva didn't argue. Didn't want to.
He hesitated, shifting on his heels.
"You can take the guest room. Or if you'd rather..." His voice roughened slightly. "I'll take the couch."
Eva blinked at him, surprised.
"You trust me to share a roof with you?" Liam said, a teasing glint in his eye. "Big risk, Eva. I'm known to hog the blankets."
A tiny laugh escaped her lips, raw and unexpected.
God, how long had it been since she'd laughed?
"Guest room's fine," she said softly.
But something in her — a reckless, lonely part — didn't want him far away.
Not tonight.
Not with shadows clawing at the windows.
Not with her heart pounding like a trapped bird in her chest.
Maybe he saw it in her face, because his teasing faded, replaced by something heavier. Real.
"I'll be right downstairs," Liam said. "Promise."
She nodded.
He showed her to the guest room — a warm, cozy space with dark wood furniture and a thick bedspread that smelled faintly of lavender.
There was a lock on the inside of the door. Liam pointed it out but didn't push.
"If you need anything," he said, "just yell."
Eva hovered awkwardly, the tea mug warming her hands.
"Liam?"
He turned at the doorframe, silhouetted against the hallway light.
"...Thanks," she whispered.
He gave her a small, tired smile — the kind that said he understood more than she was saying.
"Anytime."
And then he left, pulling the door halfway closed behind him.
Eva sat on the bed, the silence swelling around her.
The storm outside had faded to a low rumble.
But inside, her mind whirled with a hundred questions, a hundred fears.
Was she really safe here?
Was she dragging Liam into danger?
And... could she trust him?
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe, to slow her racing thoughts.
In the end, exhaustion won.
She crawled under the covers, the warmth of the tea still buzzing in her veins, and drifted into a restless sleep.
---
Eva's Dream
It was raining.
She was back outside, running — heart hammering, legs burning.
She could hear footsteps behind her — fast, deliberate. Gaining.
She turned a corner blindly — and slammed into a figure.
Strong arms caught her.
At first she panicked — struggling — but the hands steadied her, firm and safe.
She looked up into Liam's face.
"You're safe," he whispered.
But even as he said it, she saw a shadow loom behind him — huge, shapeless.
She tried to scream — but no sound came.
---
Eva jolted awake, tangled in the sheets, heart galloping.
The room was dark — except for a sliver of light spilling under the door.
Voices.
Downstairs.
She strained to listen — but only caught fragments.
Liam's low voice. Another deeper one — rough, unfamiliar.
She slid out of bed, bare feet silent on the hardwood floors.
Curiosity — and a twinge of fear — pulled her toward the staircase.
She crept halfway down, staying hidden behind the banister.
Below, she saw Liam standing in the foyer, talking to a man in a soaked raincoat.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair slicked back.
"I'm telling you, Liam," the man was saying, voice sharp, "she's bringing trouble."
Liam's stance shifted — protective.
"She's under my roof. She's my responsibility."
Eva's stomach twisted.
Who was that man?
And why did he sound like he knew what was happening?
She leaned in a little closer — and the floorboard under her foot gave a faint, traitorous creak.
Both men looked up.
Liam's face softened when he saw her.
The other man's hardened.
Eva straightened, heart thudding.
"Eva," Liam said, voice calm. "This is Marcus. A... friend."
Marcus didn't smile.
He just nodded stiffly, eyes scanning her like he was assessing a threat.
"Nice to meet you," Eva said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Marcus gave a grunt.
To Liam, he muttered, "We'll talk later."
Then he disappeared into the storm.
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving a vacuum of tension.
Eva wrapped her arms around herself.
"Who was that?" she asked quietly.
Liam exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Someone who's trying to help," he said.
"But maybe not the way I want him to."
He turned to her fully, his gaze heavy with meaning.
"I need you to trust me, Eva."
"I do," she said — surprising herself with how much she meant it.
Even with the fear prickling under her skin.
Even with the unanswered questions.
Because standing there — in the middle of a storm, in a stranger's mansion — Liam was the only thing that felt real.
The only thing that felt safe.
---
Later That Night
Eva couldn't sleep.
Even after Liam reassured her, even after the storm eased into a steady whisper of rain against the windows — she lay wide-eyed in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
Something gnawed at her gut.
A feeling.
An instinct.
She needed to know more.
So, barefoot and silent, she padded out of the guest room, down the stairs, toward the study where Liam had disappeared after Marcus left.
The door was slightly ajar.
Eva hesitated — then pushed it open.
Liam was there, standing by the window, a glass of something dark in his hand.
The light from the streetlamps cut sharp shadows across his face — making him look almost... haunted.
He turned when he heard her, his expression briefly shuttered — then softened.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I keep thinking..." She trailed off, unsure how much to say. "That maybe I brought something bad here. That you're in danger because of me."
Liam set his glass down and crossed the room in three strides.
"Eva," he said, voice low but firm, "this isn't your fault."
She hugged her arms to herself. "Then whose is it?"
Before he could answer, a crash shattered the moment.
Glass — breaking somewhere upstairs.
They both froze.
Liam reacted instantly — grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him.
He reached into a drawer near the door — pulled out a sleek black handgun.
Eva's heart slammed against her ribs.
"We're not taking chances," he muttered.
He moved with precision — like he'd done this before.
Another crash. He swore under his breath.
Liam pressed a finger to his lips — a silent command — and led her down the hallway, toward the hidden side stairs.
Eva followed, every nerve ending alive, electric.
They crept upstairs — the creak of the wood loud in the oppressive silence.
The guest room door was open.
The bedcovers thrown back.
Someone had been there.
Someone was still here.
From the corner of her eye, Eva caught a flicker of movement — a shadow slipping down the hallway toward Liam's bedroom.
Liam saw it too.
He handed Eva the flashlight wordlessly, mouthing: "Stay behind me."
She clutched it like a lifeline.
They inched down the hallway.
Closer.
Closer.
Liam's bedroom door was half-open, darkness pooling inside.
He pushed it open with his foot — gun raised.
The room was empty.
But the window — the window was wide open, curtains snapping in the storm wind.
Liam cursed under his breath.
"He's here," he whispered.
The words barely left his mouth before a figure lunged from behind the door.
Tall, hooded, wielding something metallic — a crowbar.
Eva screamed.
Liam reacted instinctively — knocking Eva aside and grappling with the intruder.
The gun clattered across the floor, out of reach.
Eva scrambled to her feet, panic surging.
The flashlight.
She still had it.
She swung it with everything she had — the metal hitting the attacker's head with a sickening thud.
The man staggered — and Liam tackled him, pinning him to the ground.
It was messy. Brutal. Fast.
In the end, it was Liam's strength — and Eva's desperate intervention — that won.
The man groaned, dazed.
Blood trickled down the side of his head.
Liam flipped him onto his back, ripping off the hood.
Eva gasped.
It was a face she recognized — barely — from her old apartment building.
The maintenance guy.
Quiet. Polite. Forgettable.
Until now.
"Why...?" Eva whispered, trembling.
The man sneered up at her, eyes wild.
"You shouldn't have left," he rasped. "You're mine. You were always supposed to be mine."
Eva stumbled back, revulsion crawling up her spine.
Police sirens wailed faintly in the distance — someone had called them already.
Liam sat back on his heels, breathing hard.
"You're safe now," he said roughly, meeting her gaze.
And in that moment — bloody, exhausted, shaking — Eva knew it was true.
Because of him.
---
Later
The police hauled the stalker away.
Questions were asked. Statements taken.
Neighbors peered from windows.
But in the end, the house emptied, the night exhaled, and silence returned.
Eva stood by the broken window in Liam's bedroom, arms wrapped around herself.
The rain had stopped.
Only the mist remained, soft and silver in the streetlights.
"You should probably stay a little longer," Liam said, coming up beside her.
"At least until they're sure he acted alone."
Eva nodded, her throat tight.
She turned to him — really looked at him — and saw the bruises already darkening on his cheek, the split in his lip.
He'd fought for her.
Risked everything for her.
And for the first time in a long, long time — she felt safe enough to let her guard down.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice breaking.
Liam reached out slowly — giving her every chance to pull away — and tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
His fingers brushed her skin, lingering.
The air between them shifted — heavy, electric.
"You're not alone, Eva," he said softly.
"Not anymore."
Something inside her cracked open.
She rose onto her toes, closing the last few inches between them.
And kissed him.
It was tentative at first — searching — but when he kissed her back, it deepened, pulled taut with all the fear and hope and raw need they'd been holding back.
His hands cradled her face.
Hers fisted in his shirt.
It wasn't perfect.
It was messy. Bruised. Desperate.
But it was real.
And right now, it was everything.
When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, Liam rested his forehead against hers.
"Still scared?" he asked, voice husky.
Eva smiled — a real smile this time, shaky but fierce.
"Yeah," she whispered. "But not of you."
---
"In the name of love, even the darkest nights can find their dawn.."