Chapter 2

Calista's POV

Heavy rolling sounds echoed overhead. Someone in the penthouse above. My frayed nerves snapped slack, and I collapsed into the sofa, gasping for air.

The insomnia and hormonal chaos of a thirty-two-week pregnancy were turning me into a paranoid wreck, jumping at shadows.

But the creepiness of that phone call still made my heart race. I dialed my husband. After a dozen seconds, it went to voicemail. I called three times. No answer.

"How could he sleep so heavily..." He had just said he would call the manager; how could he fall right back asleep? Panic surged again.

I opened my phone browser and dialed the property's 24-hour hotline. "Lines are busy, please hold," an icy robotic voice said. Cold sweat dripped onto the back of my hand. I scrolled through my contacts, locking onto a name: "Private Concierge - Rowan Mercer."

I had saved it months ago. I didn't know if he was on shift tonight, but I was a trapped animal; I had nothing to lose.

The call connected instantly.

"Mrs. Monroe? It's quite late, how can I help you?" Rowan's professional, steady voice was incredibly reassuring.

Spilling words like cracked beans, I babbled everything: the lost cat, the strange woman ordering me downstairs, the muffled man's voice.

"Take a deep breath and try not to panic," he said smoothly. "I will go take a look right now. Please hold on."

Less than two minutes later, Rowan called back, sounding relieved, "Mrs. Monroe, you're definitely overthinking this. Piper is indeed hiding by the flowerbed. The girl is standing a few meters away under the streetlamp, sneezing and rubbing her eyes—a severe allergic reaction. A ride-share car just pulled up next to her; the muffled voice was the driver helping with her luggage. Her friend hasn't arrived yet. She was just kindly watching the cat for you."

No thugs lurking in the shadows. No malicious plot against a pregnant woman. Just a good Samaritan, and a sleep-deprived pregnant woman having a paranoid episode.

"Thank you so much, Rowan, for taking care of this so late..." My eyes burned with shame.

"It's my duty. I'll go get her for you now."

Hanging up, the massive weight crushed against my chest finally lifted. I exhaled deeply, gently stroked my tightened belly, and stood up to get a glass of warm water.

My phone vibrated. Caller ID: Building Official Property Center.

"Mrs. Monroe, we sincerely apologize! Our system crashed, preventing calls from coming through. Do you have an emergency?"

"It's fine now," I offered my first smile of the night. "I already had private concierge Rowan Mercer handle it. It was a misunderstanding."

Silence for two seconds. The manager's tone sharply changed, leaking uncontrollable shock and alarm, "Mrs. Monroe! What did you say? Rowan Mercer was fired and reported by management last week for stealing from residents lockboxes!"

The blood drained from my body in a split second. A bone-piercing chill shot straight to the top of my skull. The lights blurred, and violent vertigo dragged me straight down onto the rug.

"Mrs. Monroe, don't panic! We are sending the security chief up immediately!"

That sentence was the only lifeline I could grasp.

"Yes! Hurry! I'm on the 12th floor! Please hurry!" I screamed hoarsely, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone.

The line cut.

I curled up in the dark. The room was dead silent, save for my own heartbeat hammering against my eardrums like a drum.

Then, a lethal question wrapped around my heart like a viper. Rowan had already been fired. Why did he so confidently promise to go "take a look" for me?

The phone vibrated like thunder.

Four cold letters flashed on the screen: Rowan Mercer.

My stomach violently churned. I dug my thumbnail deep into my palm, using the pain to force my last ounce of clarity, and pressed answer.

"Mrs. Monroe?"

"Why... haven't you come out yet? Everyone is waiting for you."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood, squeezing out a frail voice.

"I'm not going out... the baby started kicking, and I'm having severe contractions. I can't even stand up. My husband... will go down to get Piper in a minute."

"Is that so?"

He lowered his voice, hissing like a snake, every word drilling straight into my eardrum. "What exactly... are you so afraid of?"

Before he finished the sentence, frantic, explosive banging erupted outside my front door.

It sounded like someone swinging a sledgehammer, violently trying to smash their way into my home.

"Ah—!"

I jumped, dropping the phone. It smacked onto the floor and slid all the way to the crack beneath the front door.

The glowing screen flickered in the dark. The line was still open, Rowan’s sickeningly amused chuckle echoing faintly from the speaker.

The banging outside evolved into a hysterical roar—a man hurling his entire body against the heavy door.

"Open the door! Open the damn door!!"