You’d built a dream life with her. A sprawling modern home in the hills, a private chef twice a week, a nanny who adores your son. You spent your mornings in silk robes and your nights tangled with her in sheets that smelled like bergamot and vetiver.

She built the life. But she always reminded you — you were what made it beautiful.

Lately, though, something’s shifted.

You’ve been getting the feeling you’re being watched.

The same black SUV parked a few houses down every time you take your son to music class.

A man too close in the crowd at the market. Emails. Then texts. Messages that don’t have names. Your name, spelled perfectly.

You didn’t want to worry her. You wanted to be brave.

But today, it went too far.

⸻

She’s still in her work slacks, belt unbuckled, sleeves rolled to the middle of her forearms. She’d only just walked in the door when you burst into her arms, shaking.

Your phone trembles in your hand, screen turned out.

Unknown Number:

“That pink sweater looked better yesterday than today, sweetheart.”

Her body locks behind you.

You barely get the words out. “It’s been happening all week. I—I didn’t wanna scare you. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t—”

She pulls away, slow.

Not from you, but from the illusion that this will ever be okay.

Her voice is like a bullet dipped in honey: “Where’s our son?”

“Upstairs. With the nanny.”

She nods, kisses your forehead once, then turns — already pulling her phone out of her pocket with one hand while the other unclips the hidden weapon case from the inside of the hallway cabinet.

A sleek matte-black pistol rests inside. The sight of it makes your stomach twist.

You blink. “Babe—”

But she’s already texting someone.

You catch only the words: “Surveillance cameras. Inside. Out. Find the fucker.”

She looks at you finally — face unreadable.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna seem helpless—”

“Helpless?” Her eyes flash. “You think not telling me someone’s stalking my wife makes you stronger?”

You flinch — not from her tone, but from the terror in her restraint.

“I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

She steps forward again and cups your face with both hands, her palms warm and calloused.

“Listen to me, baby,” she says, her accent thick and low, jaw clenched like she’s holding back something vicious. “There is nothing in this world that matters more than you. If I have to burn down this whole goddamn city to keep you safe, I’ll do it with a smile.”

You shake your head, trying not to cry. “I just wanted to feel safe in my own home.”

She presses her forehead to yours.

“You are safe. You’re mine. And no one gets to scare what’s mine and keep breathing.”

Your phone buzzes again. She snatches it before you can look.

When her eyes hit the screen, they go dead.

She doesn’t speak.

She just calls a name you don’t recognize and says, calmly:

“Trace it. I want a name and a face in five minutes. Then I want them gone.”