Chapter 9

When I step into the apartment, the silence feels heavier than usual. I glance at the clock on the wall, it's just past 5:00 PM. Dropping my bag onto the nearest chair, I collapse onto the couch by the window. The view of New York stretches before me, the city alive with its usual rhythm, but it feels like it's happening in another world.

I rub my temples and lean back, letting my eyes drift over the skyline. My mind is blissfully blank for once, and I welcome the quiet. But just as I begin to settle into the moment, my phone buzzes loudly on the coffee table.

I pick it up without looking at the screen, expecting maybe something about today's trial. Instead, "Mom" flashes across the screen.

I hesitate. I haven't spoken to her in a couple of days, and judging by the time, she's probably calling for a reason. With a sigh, I answer.

"Hi, Mom."

"Finally!" she exclaims, her voice filled with both relief and exasperation. "You've been impossible to reach lately! Are you okay? You sound tired."

"I'm fine," I say, trying to sound more upbeat than I feel. "It's just work, you know how it is."

"Hmm," she says skeptically. "Well, I hope you haven't forgotten what tomorrow is."

"What?" I ask, confused for a moment, before it hits me. "Oh my God, Christmas Eve..."

"Exactly," she says pointedly. "Are you coming home this year, or should I just assume you'll be working through it like last time?"

I sigh, feeling a pang of guilt. "No, I'll come. I just...forgot it was tomorrow, that's all. Things have been hectic."

"I know your job is important, but you have to make time for family too, sweetheart," she says, her tone softening. "It's been too long since we've all been together. Your father would've hated how distant we've become."

I swallow hard at the mention of Dad, the familiar ache settling in my chest. "I know, Mom. I'll be there, I promise."

"Good," she says, her voice brighter now. "I'll save your usual spot at the table. And don't even think about skipping dessert this year."

I can't help but smile. "Alright, I won't."

"Alright, I'll let you go then. Try to rest, okay? You sound like you need it."

"Thanks, Mom. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart."

The call ends, leaving me alone in the quiet again. I set my phone down and stare out at the city.

After a while I try to settle in with a book, something that's been collecting dust on my shelf for months. But after rereading the same paragraph five times, I give up. My mind is restless, refusing to focus on anything for long.

I glance at the clock. It's still relatively early, and the thought of staying cooped up in the apartment all evening feels unbearable. With a sigh, I grab my jacket and scarf, deciding that a walk might clear my head.

The cold air bites at my cheeks as I step outside, the city buzzing faintly around me. Lights twinkle on the streets, and a thin layer of snow covers the sidewalks, crunching softly under my boots. I make my way to Central Park, letting my feet guide me while "Slip Away" by Luke Hemmings plays through my headphones.

Snow begins to fall as I wander through the quiet park, the flakes drifting lazily in the soft glow of streetlights. I find an empty bench and sit, pulling my coat tighter against the chill. Couples stroll past, their laughter blending with the faint hum of the city in the distance.

I came out here to get away from my thoughts, but somehow everything circles back to him. Luigi. The courtroom, the way he looked at me for that brief moment, the weight of everything surrounding him. I push the thought away, muttering, "Enough."

as I sit in the cold, I can't help but feel a strange sensation creeping up my spine. It's subtle at first, a twinge of unease, but it grows stronger, like I'm being watched. I glance around, trying to spot someone, anyone, paying me too much attention. But the paths nearby are empty, save for the occasional jogger or passerby.

"Get a grip," I whisper to myself, standing and brushing the snow from my coat. It's time to go home.

As I head back toward the edge of the park, the feeling doesn't fade. It clings to me, like a shadow I can't quite shake. I keep my head down, my footsteps quickening, the warm lights of the city pulling me forward.

As I step out of the park and head toward the street, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and Gloria's name flashes across the screen.

"Gloria," I answer, keeping my voice low against the city noise.

"Finally! I thought you'd fallen off the planet," she says, her voice bright. "Where are you? Are you outside?"

"I went for a walk in Central Park. Needed some air," I reply, glancing both ways before crossing the street.

"Air? Or space to think about your client?" she teases, and I can practically hear her smirking on the other end.

"Not in the mood, Gloria," I say, rolling my eyes even though she can't see me.

"Okay, fine," she says, but her tone tells me she's not dropping it. "But have you seen the internet today?"

I sigh. "No. Why?"

"Girl, the pictures from today's trial are everywhere. And let me just say those photographers did not miss. You look like you stepped straight out of an action movie," she says, practically giddy.

I frown. "Wait, I'm in the photos?"

"Uh, yeah, right next to him. You look badass focused, all sharp cheekbones and power moves." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Luigi looks like the tragic antihero, of course. Very mysterious. People are eating it up."

"Oh, God," I groan. "What are people saying?"

"Well, for starters, Twitter's losing it over how good he looks in that sweater. And then there's you. Someone literally captioned, 'She's the definition of stand by your man,'" she says, laughing so hard I can barely understand her.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm not his anything. I'm his guard. That's it."

"Relax, nobody's saying you're in love with him or something. Yet. But they're definitely noticing you." Her voice softens, as if she's trying to reassure me. "Honestly, you should see it. You look amazing."

"Thanks, I guess?" I mutter, still uneasy about the attention.

"Don't mention it," she says. "So, what are you doing now?"

"Heading home," I reply. "I need to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be another long day."

"Fair. But promise me one thing," she says, her voice playful again.

"What's that?"

"You are gonna tell me everything about him when we see, in the future."

I laugh despite myself. "Goodnight, Gloria."

"Night! Love you!"

I hang up and slip my phone back into my pocket, her words lingering as I make my way home through the softly falling snow.

When I finally reach my building, I glance over my shoulder one last time. That strange, unsettling feeling hasn't left me since the park. The streets are quiet, blanketed by the soft hum of snowfall, but it still feels like I'm being watched. I shake it off, reminding myself that I'm just tired.

Inside the lobby, the warmth hits me, and I let out a sigh of relief. The elevator ride feels endless, and by the time I reach my door, I just want to collapse.

But then I notice it something slipped halfway under the door. A small folded note.

I frown, leaning down to pick it up. Did I forget to pay the super again? Did someone complain about noise I didn't even make?

I push the door open, toss my coat over the nearest chair, and settle onto the couch, the note in my hand. Unfolding it, I brace myself for some passive-aggressive scolding from a neighbor.

Instead, the note reads:

"Stay quiet. Don't ask questions."

My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the words. The paper trembles slightly in my hands, or maybe it's just me.

What the hell does this mean? And who the hell left it?