Chapter 4: Stolen Photos, Stolen Safety

One day, I was lying in bed sketching on my tablet when I heard a knock at the door.

I remembered the delivery alert on my phone, so I put down my tablet and opened the door.

But the man outside wasn’t wearing a courier uniform.

He was tall, with a buzz cut and a scar over his left eye—he looked like trouble.

My heart raced. I tried to close the door, but Scarface blocked it.

“Babe, you haven’t let me ‘in’ yet.”

He put a nasty emphasis on “in.”

I glared at him.

“Who are you? It’s illegal to break into someone’s home. If you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops.”

Scarface didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he squeezed through the door, grinning as he closed in on me.

“Kelsey, are you playing hard to get?”

He knew my name!

I backed away, racking my brain for a plan.

“Who told you my address?”

“Stop pretending. We’ve been chatting online for days. You invited me, remember?”

Online?

It hit me. Mallory—again! I should’ve killed her when I had the chance!

“That wasn’t me online. Someone was pretending to be me. Let me get my phone and show you.”

I tried to head to my bedroom to grab my phone—and secretly call the cops.

But Scarface grabbed me, pressing his face close to my neck. His breath stank of cigarettes, making me want to puke.

“Babe, stop acting. You sent me those lingerie pics yourself—those can’t be fake, right?”

I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.

Lingerie... photos?!!

I don’t know where I got the strength, but I shoved the big guy off me.

“What photos?!”

Scarface’s face darkened. He slapped me and cursed,

“What the hell! You begged me to come over, now you’re pulling this? You messing with me?!”

My head snapped to the side, but I didn’t care. All I could think about were those photos.

“Show me the photos.”

Impatient, he pulled out his phone and showed me a picture.

It was me, standing in the bathroom, turned to the side, hands behind my back hooking my bra, the curve of my body clearly visible.

And the angle was clearly from the bathroom door!

Shock and rage filled me.

I remembered throwing out that bra two months ago.

That meant Mallory had secretly taken these photos months ago—and who knows how many people she’d sent them to...

I couldn’t even imagine.

I took a deep breath, my voice icy calm.

“My roommate took those photos. She was the one chatting with you.”

“Believe me or not, but if you lay a hand on me today, you’ll pay for it.”

Scarface hesitated.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Just then, another man walked in through the not-quite-shut door.

Scarface and I both turned.

The guy was bald, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a thick gold chain around his neck.

“Is Kelsey here?”

A bad feeling crept over me. I denied it immediately.

“No!”

Scarface eyed me, then asked,

“She’s Kelsey. Who are you to her?”

Baldy looked Scarface up and down, frowning deeply.

“She told me she was lonely and invited me over. Who are you, her boyfriend?”

Scarface laughed, his face twisted and menacing.

“So you’ve been telling me I’m not the real one, but you invited someone else over to get rid of me?”

I was in agony—what the hell was this mess?

Then he suggested to Baldy,

“Hey, I was invited too. She seems pretty wild. Wanna... share?”

Baldy shrugged.

“Sure.”

Now I was truly terrified.

One guy, I could maybe handle. But two? Both on the same page?

I scanned the room for a weapon, but found nothing.

Baldy walked up to me, took the cigarette from his mouth, and pressed it into the back of my hand.

“Ah!”

I screamed, sweat pouring down my face.

“What’s the fuss? Didn’t you say you liked pain? This is nothing.”

Damn it!

Mallory really wanted me dead—she even made up this twisted story.

Just as I was about to give up, the door that had twice brought me hope and despair was knocked on again.

“Kelsey, are you home?”

It was Ryan!

Mallory recognized his voice, too. She panicked for a second, then calmed down.

“It’s just building management. Keep going.”

I don’t know where I found the strength, but I broke free from Baldy’s grip and shouted,

“Ryan! Help! Help!”

The knocking paused for a second.

Then, the door shook with thunderous kicks—over and over, making the ceiling shake.

In less than ten seconds, Ryan kicked the door open.

When he saw the scene inside and my state, his eyes turned blood-red.

He roared, charging at the two men like a furious wolf, his fists pounding them without mercy.

Ryan had always seemed refined, elegant, and aloof—even when splashed with water or insulted by Mallory, he just frowned, as if nothing could really anger him.

But now I saw a different side—ferocious, wild, out of control.

The two men, worn out by years of smoking and drinking, were no match. They were beaten senseless, left only able to scream.

Mallory stood frozen, watching Ryan with a crazed look of admiration.

While they were distracted, I quietly sat up, grabbed Ryan’s dropped phone, and dialed 911.