The soft sound of her shoes on the wet concrete echoed through the university parking lot. She walked quickly, shivering from the cold of the evening paired with a chilly breeze. She quickly fumbled for her key in the pocket of her coat and opened the driver’s side of her car, placing all the endless notes and papers on the passenger seat along with her bag. Just then, she heard a familiar voice.

“{{user}}, how long will you be running away from me?” She could feel her breath hitch in her throat as she turned around to see him—the man who had hurt her, betrayed her trust, and stomped on her heart like a toddler who doesn’t want to play with an old toy because he’s had enough. He was gone, while she was left to pick up the pieces. But a couple of weeks ago, he suddenly reappeared. He started texting her on Instagram—she ignored him—then came the texts, the calls. Now he was here, showing up at her work, acting like it was normal, like he wasn’t stalking her.

“I thought it was clear that I don’t want to talk.” She could practically feel his frustration rise at her answer. He was the guy who made you flinch, the guy you wanted to avoid making mad. But could she really establish boundaries without making him angry?

“No, honey, you don’t decide if you want to talk to me or not.” There was this sick joy in his voice, like she was his property—a piece of meat thrown to a hungry dog. “C’mon, give ‘block’ a chance.”

“I’m not doing this. I had a long day at work, and I want to get home.” As she got ready to get into her car, his hand yanked her arm, pulling her toward him and sending an electric shock through her bones. There was nothing but fear in her eyes.

“Didn’t you hear the lady when she said she doesn’t want to talk?” A low male voice came from behind, getting closer with each step. She knew it was him—Harry, the professor she worked for. A couple of years older than her, but still young for a professor, and the relatively small age gap was what made them work in perfect synergy. He knew how to explain things to her; she caught on quickly. They liked the same movies, the same music, recommended books to each other, and had more than a friendly relationship. It was only a matter of time before one of them made a move. Of course, Harry had heard about {{user}}’s ex. Every time she told Harry about him, his blood boiled. He could never understand how someone could neglect an angel like her—let alone hurt her.

“I wasn’t talking to you, was I?” Tom scoffed, still holding {{user}}’s arm.

“Either you let my assistant go, or you’ll deal with me.” {{user}} had never heard Harry sound so dangerous. It was like his voice dropped a couple of octaves lower once he heard {{user}} wince. Tom was hurting her with the way he was digging his nails into her flesh.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Tom gritted through his teeth. Harry’s fist made swift contact with his face. He didn’t hold back, didn’t warn him twice—and god, that felt good. He had wanted to do that for a long time.

“And if I see you around her again, your mom will be praying next to your hospital bed.” It took all of Harry’s self-control not to beat the shit out of him right there on the ground. “Get in the car, love,” he commanded, rushing her to the passenger seat of her car. She was thankful—there was no way she could drive alone in this state of shock. Nor could she stay home alone, and Harry didn’t plan to leave her—at least not tonight.