Julian finishes reading the letter and lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A smile plays at the corners of his lips, small but genuine. With a kind of quiet reverence, he places the letter down on the armrest of the sofa, fingers lingering on the folded paper a moment longer.
He can feel her energy radiating off the page. The way her words dance with honesty and nervous charm—it's as if Grace is right here in the room, speaking aloud in that unmistakable voice of hers. Wry, vulnerable, unfiltered.
For a fleeting second, a thought brushes across his mind.
Maybe I should tell her. Maybe I could just… say it. Let her know it was me.
She wants to be friends. She said it herself.
And there's a part of him—a part that isn't just the professor, or the donor, but simply a man—who wants that too. Wants to meet her in that unguarded place. Not as Professor Julian Lenter, but just as Julian.
But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes.
No. Not now.
He knows better. If she found out the truth—that he paid her tuition, anonymously, and said nothing—it could easily come off as overreaching… even invasive. He doesn't want her to feel indebted. Or worse, watched.
That's the last thing he wants.
So for now, he keeps the secret to himself.
He leans back again, sinking deeper into the couch, letting the music and the moment settle over him. There's something oddly tender about it all—this private exchange that exists only on paper, and yet stirs something vivid and real in his chest.
Grace Silver—unexpected, brilliant, chaotic, and soft around the edges—has somehow carved a space into his world. She entered without force, without demand. And now she's painting it with light, with color, with a kind of emotion he hasn't dared to name.
He closes his eyes for a moment, the echo of her words still ringing in his mind.
Just for now… this is enough.
It's deep into the night. The apartment is silent, cloaked in shadow. The only light comes from the dim glow of a floor lamp in the corner of the living room, casting soft amber hues across the furniture.
Grace sits curled on the sofa, legs drawn up, a blanket draped over her lap. Her phone rests in her palm like a weight she's been carrying all day. She exhales slowly, the breath shaky and uncertain, then unlocks the screen.
Her thumb hovers for a moment.
Then, she opens the messaging app.
The text is still there. The photo—that photo—stares back at her like a trap she walked into without knowing. Her and Julian in the hotel hallway. She's wrapped in nothing but a towel. Vulnerable. Exposed. He's holding the door open.
She studies the image in silence. She's looked at it a dozen times by now, but it doesn't get easier. It still sends that cold shiver through her spine.
How did he even take this? How close was he?
Her thumb slides slowly across the screen. Over the number. The number that sent it.
She doesn't know if this is the right move.
But she can't sit here any longer doing nothing.
Maybe if I talk to him... maybe there's something I can say. Maybe there's a way out of this.
She presses
The phone starts ringing—once, twice. The soft mechanical tone cuts through the silence of the room, echoing in her ears. Her other hand clenches the blanket.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Still ringing.
She's just about to hang up when the call clicks when the voice comes out.
"Hello, Grace." Low, guttural voice echoes in the space.
The same voice that's haunted her through texts, calls, and whispers through the phone like shadows slipping under a door.
A chill prickles up her arms, but this time, she doesn't flinch. Not like before. The fear is still there, somewhere beneath her skin, but it's dulled now—tempered by exhaustion, maybe even anger. She's done letting him control her every thought.
"I just want to ask you something," she says, her voice calm and deliberate, as steady as she can make it. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this? What is it you're really after?"
Silence.
Not static, not breathing—just a cold, intentional pause that stretches too long, like the darkness is thinking.
Waiting.
Calculating.
About ten seconds of silence pass—just long enough for Grace to wonder if he's hung up.
Then the sound comes.
Not a voice.
It's a laugh.
A twisted, jagged sound, like broken glass dragged across the soul. Psychotic. Creepy. Echoing like it doesn't belong in the world of the living.
A cold shiver races down Grace's spine. She jerks the phone away from her ear, panic prickling at her skin. The house is quiet—too quiet—and she's alone. The last thing she needs is that laughter breathing right into her ear. With trembling fingers, she taps the speaker button and sets the phone on the table.
Distance. It's the only thing she can control right now.
Finally, the laughter dies out, trailing into an eerie silence before the voice returns—low, slow, and menacing.
"I told you," the man says, his tone curling around each word. "I just need you to stay away from that Julian guy... and any of the other guys."
Grace exhales sharply, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. Her irritation simmers, hot beneath the fear. She hates that he has this effect on her—that he can reach across distance and disrupt her world with a few chilling syllables.
She steadies her voice. "Who are you to tell me who I can or can't see?" she snaps. "And that picture you took—of me and that guy in the hotel hallway—it's not what you think."
She doesn't say Julian's name. She refuses to give this creep the satisfaction of hearing it spoken aloud.
Another laugh. Short. Mocking.
"Oh, I know," the man replies, almost gleefully. "But that doesn't mean I can't use it to make Julian Lenter's life miserable. He's a professor, after all."
More laughter. Hollow. Psychotic. The kind of sound that seems to bleed from some deeper place than the lungs.
Grace shakes her head, the reality settling like lead in her stomach.
This man… He's not just disturbed. He's unhinged. Utterly insane.
The man's voice continues, dripping with smug satisfaction. "He's had quite the career, hasn't he? Brilliant young entrepreneur in the fashion industry, and now the star professor at the university. Julian Lenter—what a name. He really is something. And with just a few pictures of you two…" He lets the words hang for dramatic effect. "I could destroy him. Completely. Ruin everything he's built."
Grace stiffens.
There's something in his tone—too informed, too recent. Not just a casual obsession. It's almost clinical. Precise.
He's done his research, she realizes. This isn't some jealous classmate or someone from campus. No… he's from outside. He doesn't sound like a student at all.
Meanwhile, the man keeps talking, unaware of the red flags going up in Grace's mind.
"I told you," he says, the malice now softened into something more personal—and twisted. "I'm always watching you. I stay very close. Just do what I say. Listen to me. You are mine."
That's it.
Grace lets out a sharp, incredulous scoff. She knows she probably shouldn't provoke him—knows how easily people like this can spiral—but the words come out anyway, unfiltered, fueled by rising anger.
"Excuse me?" she says, tone dry and defiant. "Yours? Where the hell did you get that idea?"
Her voice rises with each word. "Let me tell you something. This whole stalker act? It's pathetic. It's boring. You're wasting your time. I mean—do you think this is clever? Or scary? It's not. At the end of the day, you're just going to be some anonymous creep I once had to block." Her voice is steady, but her heart is racing. "Here's an idea—go do something meaningful with your life. Seriously. Because stalking me? Taking pictures like some kind of wannabe villain? It's not going to change anything. It's not funny. It's just sad."
Silence follows for a beat—then a low chuckle crackles through the speaker.
"Wow," the man drawls. "You've got some nerve. I can hear it in your voice—you're furious. That's cute. Want me to make this more entertaining for you?"
Grace's lips twitch slightly.
She doesn't know if he's serious. If this is just another threat. Or if something worse is coming.
Is he joking? Or is he really unraveling?
But no—she can't show fear. Not now.
"I don't care what you do," she says coldly. "I'm telling you—go find something better to do with your life. Because I don't even care who you are. And the more you try to scare me, the less I see you as a threat… and the more I see you for what you really are and you really should..."
That's when the stalker cuts her off.
His voice returns—deep, slow, darker than ever. "Okay. Like you said…"
A pause.
Grace swallows hard. Something about the tone… it isn't angry. It isn't loud. It's calm. Too calm.