By the time I find the bathroom and make my way back to Devon's office, I've come to a decision.

Ty is right about one thing—the second I sign a contract, Devon will set things in motion to restrict my life, one way or another. While he says it's to protect me, I'm not sure I need that kind of protection. The danger out there seems much further away than the danger right here. He stalks me. He wants to know where I am constantly. He wants to tell me who I can or cannot be involved with. He wants to be the one deciding who gives me voice lessons and takes care of my wardrobe, instead of letting me choose—and those are the things I know about.

There could be more.

This means I won't be going to sing with Jay-Jay at the little studio anymore—my life-line for how many months? Going there kept me sane. It saved me from spiraling into a depression or worse, I have no doubt.

No. I need to figure things out before signing away my freedom like that, even if he did pay my rent.

I've been broke and homeless before, and I can't do it again, but Ty is right—I love being free.

Devon Orlando does not control me.

I knock at the open door to get his attention.

His head snaps up. "You're back. Unfortunately, Bethany and—"

"I need to go home for a bit and think," I say, interrupting him.

Before I can say anything else, he's crossing from behind his desk, coming straight for me.

"I'll drive you." He takes his coat from a standing rack.

"No. I can take the bus. The air will clear my head and I have to clean up after tearing the place apart this morning. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For paying my rent. I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Don't," he says. "Don't promise and don't pay me back. I want you back here before nightfall. We have work to do to get you ready."

I back out of his office, not agreeing or refusing. My mind is a jabbering mess of questions, thoughts, images, and stinging retorts. I bite my tongue, not saying anything.

First, I get my head straight. Then, I tell him what he can do with his orders.

The city is a blur until I reach my front door. Then everything comes sharply into focus. There's a dark scuff mark on the threshold, the kind black soles make. They are long, but faint, and I'm not one hundred percent sure they weren't there before.

Maybe Ted did it this morning, when he was banging on my door. I try to picture him kicking his feet on the floor in impatience.

I glance over my shoulder. The hallway is quiet, not even the neighbor's dogs are barking. They must be out for a walk. I'm not usually at home in the middle of the morning. I left earlier than usual today, and normally don't come back until the evening.

I test my door handle. It wiggles, loose and pops open without me unlocking it. Adrenaline rushes into my muscles. I'm ready to run.

Holding my breath, I push the door open slowly, listening for movement. It's quiet. I look inside, still standing at the threshold.

It's also possible I didn't lock the door on my way out. I was rushing about in a mad hurry to get to the Stay Gold, and was flustered from Ted's threats to throw me out.

It's possible.

From the entry, my apartment looks the same as when I left it. A mess. I don't have any valuables, not even a T.V., and my battered laptop is still on the table next to the coffee mug from yesterday. Another mark lines my floor. Maybe it's always been there.

I step inside cautiously, telling myself I must be imagining things. This building is so old and beat-up I don't see the scratches and marks until I look for them.

"Hello?" I call. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to get—an answer or someone bolting for the kitchen window and fire-escape. No. Everything is the same as I left it. I'm sure.

I must have forgotten to lock the door, that's all.

I shut the door and give a loud sigh. It's such a mess. I grab several dishes from the table on my way to the kitchen, but pause under the arch.

There's a scent in the apartment I don't recognize. Or do I? The smell of the place is off, just slightly.

Ted's cologne and body odor from when he was at the door this morning? I crinkle my nose. He's grossly overpowering, no doubt.

No.

My mouth goes dry.

It's the smell of someone. Someone that was in my apartment.

Someone that still might be in my apartment.

I edge backwards, every sense on high alert. I listen for the slightest noise, smallest warning of danger. My eyes scan the tiny kitchen nook and living room. The only part I can't see is my bedroom—the door is mostly closed. Light shines from the crack.

I keep tiptoeing backwards, eyes fixed on the door, muscles tensed.

I knock the table, and the glass jar on it rattles. Before I can react, it falls and rolls off and lands with a bang on the old, hardwood floor.

It's then I notice it's full of dollar bills. Of twenties.

Still facing my bedroom in case of movement, I stoop to pick up the jar from the floor. It's the one I usually keep under the cabinet. The one I was sure had a couple of hundred dollars in it, but was empty this morning.

The money is there.

I blink.

What kind of thief sneaks in and gives money to their victims?

I can't swallow, my mouth is like sunbaked concrete. My heart pounds in my ears.

If I was sure I had it before, but it was gone this morning...

My head twists around the possibilities.

If I had it before, but then it was gone, someone might have come in and taken it.

If the money was gone but now it's back, someone might have come in and replaced it. Admittedly, that makes no sense.

Or, I'm completely unreliable and can't keep track of my things or lock my door on my way out.

I back all the way to the door and twist the handle. I jump out, into the hallway. Mrs. Parker is returning with her dogs from a walk.

"Hello, Mrs. Parker. Did you happen to see someone at my door, or sneaking around here after I left this morning?" I ask.

"Your cousin, of course. Billy."

I blink, flabbergasted. "I don't have a cousin named Billy."

"Of course, such a nice young man. He has a key. He let himself in." She shakes her head at me, annoyed and marches into her own apartment. "He had treats for the dogs like he always does and gave me flowers."

I open my mouth, unable to talk for a minute. "What does he look like?" I breathe.

"Handsome, young. Nice wool coat. Now, I'm busy. I can't take care of your business, and my own, too."

I'm alone in the hallway, staring at my apartment, in horror.

Nice wool coat.

Devon. He was gone when I got to the club and only came to the studio later, wearing his wool coat. It was enough time to break into my apartment. Especially, if he was watching me.

There's only one way to be sure if it was him. I find his number on my phone.

Would he have taken my money to ensure I called for his help? Then put it back...why? To be nice? One thing is sure. I'm not safe on my own anymore. I have to be smart.

"Devon. Change of plans. Can you come get me at my place, right away?"

*** ONC 1300 words. Seems like an odd choice....What's she planning by having Devon - the man who might be stalking her - come and pick her up? Hit the star and have a great day! ***