The Sweetest Temptation
Chapter 290: Intruder

Chapter 290: Intruder

She clutched the flashlight in her hand, its feeble beam cutting through the obscurity as she treaded the path towards her apartment building. A soft, carefree giggle escaped her lips.

Yet, as her journey drew her closer to her door, an unsettling sensation seeped into her veins, a premonition of impending calamity that lingered in the air like an unspoken omen.

The darkness that enshrouded the surroundings wasn’t merely a veil to the world. It was an eerie cloak of silence and stillness that seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting the unveiling of a sinister spectacle. The very atmosphere seemed to thicken with an unexplainable tension, her heart’s frantic rhythm a testament to the dread that tightened its grip around her.

"Deep breaths, deep breaths," she whispered to herself, a mantra to quell the rising panic that threatened to consume her. Her pulse, however, continued its relentless tattoo against her ribs.

Her hand trembled as it grasped the icy doorknob, a hesitant touch that seemed to send a shiver through her nerves, an intimation of the frigid foreboding that had settled in her bones. With a slow, deliberate push, she entered, her senses straining to penetrate the velvety darkness.

The room lay cloaked in shadows, its secrets concealed within the folds of obscurity. Her flashlight, a slender beacon of light, played over the familiar contours of furniture, casting elongated silhouettes that danced like specters in the night. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, as if the room itself held its breath, guarding the unknown.

Yet, her gaze, sharpened by both fear and the darkness, remained fixed on the scene. The space felt frozen, untouched, as if time itself had been suspended within its walls.

She had neglected to secure her home before departing earlier, a trivial oversight in the grand scheme of the night. Her actions had been guided by a series of events that had woven her destiny, unknown to her at that moment. However, everything seemed intact...

Amidst the familiar surroundings, one object stood out, an innocuous photograph, strategically placed on the coffee table adjacent to the solitary armchair, a photograph of—her. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a shadowy figure, seated with an air of poised readiness, like a predator coiled for its prey.

Stella’s heart raced, her breath hitching as her eyes locked onto the unsettling image. A chill ran down her spine, her limbs turning to stone, immobilized by the surge of electric panic coursing through her veins. With trembling hands sorting through the dark, she sought for an item for self-defense. But her movement faltered as a deep, masculine voice, scarred by the rasp of cigars, reverberated through the dimly lit space.

"For you to make such a reckless move, you must be head over heels for him."

The voice, both familiar and dreaded, echoed like a sinister refrain in her ears. Her mind recoiled from the truth, from the identity of the speaker. Dread bloomed within her chest, choking her, demanding a confrontation with the specter she had once tried to escape.

"Save your brain power for our discussion, love. There’s no use working over how I found out where you live," the voice continued, its cadence oozing with calculated nonchalance. "Although, if you ask me, it was quite easy."

Stella’s hands quivered as her fingers brushed against the cold surface of her phone, her thoughts scrambling to assemble a coherent plan. She inhaled a shaky breath, mustering the courage to address the looming figure that had infiltrated her sanctuary.

"What are you doing here?!" Her words wavered, a volatile blend of anger and terror simmering beneath her voice.

A chuckle, dark and tinged with twisted amusement, sliced through the air like a blade. "Goodness, darling, not even a hi? Do you even know how much I’ve missed you?"

The figure’s hand reached for the photograph on the table, lifting it with deliberate slowness. The minimal light filtering into the room cast a dim halo around him, obscuring his features in shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent secrets.

"I’d stare at this picture almost every night," he mused, his words a chilling revelation of his obsession, "clutching your dress to my nose and wondering when I’d ever get to have you wriggling in my arms once again."

The room seemed to constrict, the air thickening with a toxic blend of dread and anticipation. Stella’s mind whirled, entangled in a vortex of emotions and memories she had fought hard to suppress. She was faced with a nemesis she had thought she had left behind, a predator from her past who had now encroached upon her present.

He returned the photograph back to the coffee table and pulled the string of the standing lamp poised right above his head. The ray of light from the lamp, positioned over his head, illuminated an eerie depth to the rough features of the intruder—Nolan.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Nolan?!"

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Since you keep asking, I came for my money."

"I owe you nothing, go to hell."

"Ah, poor Stella Rossi, who do you think has been sending those messages?" He took a step toward her, and she took one backward, her hand still holding the door open should the need for flight arise.

"No need to be scared love, I won’t harm a hair on your head," his eyes glowed red in the dark as they locked threateningly with hers. "Unless I have to do so."

"I don’t have the money."

"And you expect me to believe you when you were seen walking back here, smiling like a kid with candy? Tell me, love, do you take me for a fool?"

"I take you for an even bigger fool thinking you could get such a thing from me."

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, his neck twitched slightly, small and swift jerking movements that indicated he was not in a sober state. He had taken something before coming in here, and from the effect it was having on him, it looked coke. He’d gone from bad to worse.

Shabby old clothes almost equivalent to rags, jawline scattered with overstayed and bumpy stubble, bony face features highlighted by neglect, chapped lips from excessive smoking... if there was any indication left that he was Nolan, it was the evidences of his usual indulgences.

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