Chapter 1
Calista's POV
My name is Calista Monroe. Thirty-two weeks pregnant, ready to pop anytime.
This morning, my husband Everett left town, leaving me and my cat, Piper, alone until late at night.
Deep into the night, a strange woman called. Her voice was gentle, apologetic—she said my cat Piper had somehow wandered downstairs. She was severely allergic to cat dander and couldn't bring her up to me. I grabbed my coat, ready to head down, when the baby suddenly gave me a vicious kick. The pain sent me collapsing back onto the sofa, unable to move.
The woman on the phone urged me over and over. I looked up, my eyes falling on the corner of the living room.
Piper was sitting right there, staring unblinkingly at me...
2:00 AM. In the massive apartment, I was entirely alone.
Holding my heavy belly, I dragged myself from the desk to the sofa. At thirty-two weeks, the pelvic pressure had robbed me of sleep for half a month. Everett had flown to a neighboring city this morning with his suitcase, leaving me with nothing but dead silence until dawn.
My phone rang, shattering the quiet.
An unfamiliar local number flashed on the screen. I answered.
"Is this Piper's owner?" A gentle female voice, laced with just the right amount of apology. "Your cat somehow ran downstairs and is hiding in a blind corner by the flowerbed. I'm highly allergic to cats, so I can't bring her up. Could you come down and get her?"
I glanced at the balcony by instinct—the screen door had been blown ajar by the wind.
"Okay, I'll be right down. Thank you!"
I snatched my coat, leaning on the armrest with one hand to stand up.
A sudden cramp twisted my abdomen. Without warning, the baby kicked hard against my ribs. The sharp pain shot up my spine. My legs gave out, and I plummeted deep into the sofa, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.
I couldn't walk. I immediately dialed Everett's number.
"Honey? Still awake?" His voice was thick with sleep.
"Piper got out through the balcony. A girl is watching her downstairs, but my stomach suddenly hurts so much I can't walk."
A half-second of silence. A mere half-second, but in the dead of night, it triggered a bizarre sense of unease.
"Do not go downstairs," his tone turned sharply stern, then softened. "I'll call the building's night manager to handle it. Just stay inside."
"Okay, hurry."
Hanging up, I leaned back, staring at the pale chandelier. Knowing Everett was calling the manager gave me a breath of relief.
The clock on the wall ticked.
Ten minutes passed.
The unknown number lit up again.
"Have you come down yet?" The woman's voice was still gentle.
"I already had my husband call the building manager. They should be on the first floor any second."
The moment I finished, the background noise on her end abruptly changed.
A man's low, heavy voice violently pierced my ear. "Tell her that..."
The voice was extremely close, practically pressed against her mouthpiece. Then came a muffled thud, as if someone fiercely clamped a hand over the phone's mic. The silence lasted two seconds before the woman spoke again, her smooth rhythm completely shattered.
"I... I don't see any manager! It's too cold out here, you better just come down yourself."
My blood instantly froze.
I pressed the phone hard against my ear, straining to catch every sound.
No cat meowing. Not a single sound of it.
Only suppressed breathing—and it belonged to more than one person.
I bit my tongue hard, using the sting to force myself awake.
"The manager isn't there yet?" I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Then I'll have my husband go down to get her. By the way, why are you alone down there so late?"
The faint sound of fabric rustling came through, like people whispering hastily.
"I just got off the night shift. I happened to see the cat, saw your number on the collar, and just wanted to help," she replied, her tone regaining its composure.
"I see, thank you so much. Please wait two more minutes, my husband will be right—"
"No need."
She cut me off without hesitation. Her tone now carried a chilling, undisguised edge, "Since you can't move well, I'll just have my friend bring the cat straight to your door."
The single girl off a night shift suddenly had a "friend" on standby.
I swallowed the terror rising in my throat, my nails digging deep into the sofa fabric. "That's really too much trouble for you. I'll just wait inside."
"Don't mention it." No goodbye. The line went dead.
The moment she hung up, a thought I'd been suppressing exploded in my mind: From the first call to now, I had never told this woman what floor or apartment I lived in.
She never asked.
But she was bringing the cat "straight to my door."
Down the hall, the elevator let out a crisp ding.
