I left the door unlocked again.

By the third night the apartment no longer felt like a place I shared with Emma. It felt like a space Harlan Cole had quietly claimed. He moved through it with absolute familiarity—opened cabinets without asking, set rules about when the lights should be off, told me to be home by ten if I went out. I followed every instruction. The alternative felt heavier than obedience.

He came to my room just past midnight.

This time he didn’t sit on the edge of the bed and wait. He closed the door, locked it, and pulled the T-shirt over my head before I could speak....