MILLIE BROWN

The second I step through the door, everyone jumps out, shouting.

"Surprise!" 

I flinch, a yelp escaping my lips before I catch myself. Leah and the others are grinning, holding balloons, waving streamers, and blasting noisemakers.

Confetti rains down, the tiny pieces shimmering in the dim light. I force a smile. It was unnecessary for them to do this when we planned the whole birthday bash together.

"Happy eighteenth, Millie!" Leah pulls me into a tight hug, practically squeezing the breath out of me. I hug her back, feeling a mix of relief and unease.

They've put so much effort into this, and I want to enjoy it — I really do — but that prickling sensation lingers, crawling under my skin like an itch I can't scratch. My body feels both hot and cold, my nerves taut like a live wire.

The party kicks into gear—music blares from the speakers, and everyone starts dancing, talking, and laughing. I try to blend in, pretending everything's fine, but I keep glancing over my shoulder.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. I can't shake the unease settling itself in the base of my stomach. I should be happy now, I was legally an adult and my friends all came together to throw this sick birthday bash for me.

Leah even gave me the best birthday gift I could ask for;

My very own car, a Tesla................

Leah catches up to me and she smiles at me "Having fun?" she asks, and I can tell by the glint in her eyes that me saying yes to her was very important.

"Yes" I smile at her and she frowns. She slides up next to me. "Millie, you don't have to lie, you know I can tell. If you're not having fun—"

I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile. "No, no, it's great. I think I'm just coming down with something. I am so happy you did this for me and I am so grateful for the gift."

Her eyes narrow with concern. "Should we cancel and take you to a hospital, you're sweating buckets."

I laugh it off, but it sounds hollow even to me. "No, it's seriously nothing. I can't be the girl who ruins everyone's fun at her own birthday," I tease, and she laughs.

I grab a glass off the table and down it in one go; this was the only way I could think of to convince Leah I was fine.

The alcohol manages to ease my nerves a bit until the prickling sensation intensifies, like a static charge building up in the room.

I shiver, my skin tingling. I look up, scanning the crowd, and that's when I see him.

He's standing at the far side of the room, half-hidden in the shadows.

My stalker. His dark, wavy hair falls past his shoulders, thick and full. Brown eyes stare at me, unblinking, like he's reading my every thought. He's tall—easily over six feet—with a powerful, lean build.

He's wearing a white wifebeater that clings to his muscles, his arms lined with veins that look like they've been carved out of stone. Loose cargo pants hang low on his hips, and scuffed boots complete the look.

There's a tattoo running down his left arm, an inscription I can't make out in the dim light. His ears are pierced, silver studs catching the glow of the string lights. He's handsome in a dangerous way, with a presence that seems to suck the air out of the room.

Our eyes meet, and it's like everything around us melts away—the noise, the people, the room itself. All I can see is him, his gaze locking onto mine like a target. My pulse quickens. The air feels heavy, pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

"Millie?" Leah's voice snaps me back. She's staring at me, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes flickering with worry as she watched me. "What's wrong?"

I blink, trying to shake off the fog in my mind. "Do you see that guy over there?" I nod subtly in his direction, not wanting to draw attention. "The one with the black hair and tattoos?"

Leah squints, following my gaze. "Where? I don't see anyone."

I look back, and he's still there, still staring, his expression unreadable. "Right there," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. "He's still staring at us."

She looks again, more carefully this time, then shakes her head. "I really don't see anyone, Millie."

Frustration bubbles up inside me. "He's literally right there!" I say louder than I intended. Heads turn, but when I glance back, he's gone.

Just like that. My breath catches, panic gripping me. I search the room frantically, but he's nowhere to be found. "He was right there," I mutter, more to myself than to Leah.

Leah's hand squeezes my arm. "Millie, maybe you need to rest. You look pale."

My head is spinning. Maybe I am losing it. "Yeah... yeah, you're right. I should lie down."

Leah helps me upstairs, away from the noise and the crowd. I push open my bedroom door and collapse onto my bed, pulling the covers over my head.

The music downstairs is muffled, but the beat vibrates through the floorboards. I try to focus on it, on anything that isn't the memory of those eyes piercing through me. I close my eyes, but his face is burned into my mind.

That prickling sensation creeps back, stronger this time, like a wave washing over me. I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to ignore it, willing it to go away. But then I hear it—a rustling sound. My breath catches, and I freeze, every muscle tensing. The noise is coming from the window.

Slowly, I peek out from under the covers. My heart stops.

He's there.

My stalker is climbing in through my window, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.

His eyes never leave mine. A chill runs down my spine, and I can't move, can't scream. I can only watch as he slips inside, his boots landing softly on the carpet.

His lips curl into a slow, unsettling smile, and in the dim light, I finally see the tattoo on his arm—some kind of ancient script, dark and menacing.

He takes a step towards me.