Chapter 2 - The Midnight Ultimatum
I stared down at the black plastic phone resting against my ripped jeans. The screen was dark, cold, and entirely anonymous.
"Call him?" I repeated, looking up at Roland with sudden wariness. "Why? What could I possibly say to him now?"
"You aren't going to argue, Norah. You aren't going to cry, and you aren't going to ask for explanations," Roland said, walking over to the massive mahogany desk and picking up his own sleek smartphone. He tapped the screen twice. "You are simply going to inform him that his lease on your life has been terminated, effective immediately."
"And if he refuses to leave? If he throws my clothes out or refuses to give back my spare keys?" I asked, my voice rising slightly as the practical reality of my messy, broken life rushed back to the surface. "It's my name on the lease, but he has all his junk there. He’s stubborn when he’s cornered."
Roland let out a low, humorless chuckle that sounded like grinding stones. "Let him try to be stubborn. Dial the number."
With a reluctant breath, I picked up the burner phone. My fingers tapped out the ten digits of Liam’s cell phone number from memory—a number I had dialed a thousand times to ask him to pick up milk, or to tell him I was running late from my shift at the bookstore.
I hit the green call button and pressed the phone to my ear.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Just as I figured it was going to roll over to voicemail—complete with his lazy, uninspired greeting—a heavy, irritated click echoed through the line.
"Hello? Nora? Where the hell are you?" Liam’s voice barked through the speaker, thick with annoyance and the familiar, tinny background noise of our apartment television playing late-night infomercials. "It’s past midnight. The door was unlocked when I got back from the garage. Are you playing games? Because I'm not in the mood."
I froze. My tongue felt heavy, glued to the roof of my mouth.
Before I could force a word past my lips, Roland reached out, gently pressing his thumb against the back of my hand holding the phone, guiding it slightly closer to my mouth. He didn't speak, but his slate-gray eyes offered an unspoken command that radiated pure, unbreakable power.
Speak, his eyes said. I've got you.
"I'm not coming back, Liam," I said, my voice finally steady, ringing out clearly in the silent, luxurious penthouse.
There was a sharp pause on the other end of the line. The sound of the TV abruptly muted.
"What did you say?" Liam scoffed, a defensive, nervous edge creeping into his tone. "Are you still carrying on about that stupid silver earring? I told you, it belongs to my coworker's sister! You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Nora. Get your ass back here right now or don't bother coming home at all, because I'm locking the door."
"You don't need to lock the door, Liam," I replied, a cold, liberating smile touching my lips. "Because the apartment is empty. I’ve packed your garbage into three black contractor bags and left them in the alley by the dumpsters. Your clothes, your video games, and your cheap cologne are sitting right beside them."
"You did WHAT?" Liam roared, his voice cracking with sudden, hysterical panic. "You threw my stuff out? Are you insane? You can't do that! That TV cost—"
"You have twenty minutes to get down to the alley and pick up your trash," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a calm, chilling register that mirrored the man standing across from me. "Because if you're still inside my apartment when the clock strikes one, you won't have to worry about rent anymore. Men you don't want to meet are going to come through that door, and they aren't going to ask you to pack."
"Who is this? Who put you up to this? Is this some kind of sick joke?" Liam screamed through the receiver, the sound of furniture scraping loudly against our linoleum floor suggesting he was already scrambling toward the front door. "I swear to God, Nora, if you've got some guy—"
I didn't let him finish. I tapped the red end call button, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The room went dead silent again.
I looked up at Roland, my chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. The adrenaline was back, hot and electric in my veins.
"Well," I whispered, holding out the burner phone. "That felt entirely too satisfying."
May you like
Roland walked slowly back toward me, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel thin. He stopped right in front of me, reaching out to take the phone from my trembling fingers. His hand brushed mine, sending a jolt of heat straight up my arm.
"That," Roland murmured, his voice soft, "was merely Act One."
