My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 14 Shadows That Don’t Belong

Nova POV

I couldn’t breathe in that office after he left. His words clung to me, wrapping around my throat like smoke I couldn’t cough out.

Mine.

No one should be able to say one word like that and make it sound like both a threat and a vow.

But Grant Calloway had managed it, and now it ricocheted inside my skull long after his expensive cologne faded from the room.

I paced my cubicle, hugging a stack of books to my chest before shoving them onto the shelves just to feel useful.

My hands were trembling so badly one paperback slipped, the spine smacking against the floor.

Great.

The girl who always found safety in books was suddenly dropping them like she’d developed a paper allergy.

"Get a grip, Nova,"

I muttered under my breath, crouching to pick it up.

Even the little things were wrong. My rainbow collection of pens was scattered across my desk, completely out of order, not in their neat rows of color. Normally I’d fix them without thinking. Tonight I couldn’t even bring myself to try.

Not even my guilty-pleasure erotica or paranormal thrillers could tempt me. None of it mattered.

Because Grant wasn’t supposed to know that part of me. He wasn’t supposed to strip me bare with a look, pin me down with a single word.

And yet he had.

I told myself that was why my skin prickled. Why my chest felt tight. Why every sound seemed sharper as I left the office and locked the door behind me.

But then, halfway home, the hairs on the back of my neck lifted.

That sensation was heavy like an unfamiliar eyes watching me. In a creepy sort of way.

Tyler’s face was still glowing on my phone screen, FaceTime open as he rambled about which night would work for our first "official" date.

His lips moved, but I barely heard him. My ears were straining for something else, the shuffle of footsteps that were Not mine.

"Nova? You’re zoning again," Tyler laughed.

"Uh-huh," I forced a fake little smile.

"Lena said we can use her dad’s place—"

"Maybe you should go on a date with Lena, then."

The words left me sharper than I intended, but I didn’t apologize or feel sorry, I watched him stumble, scrambling for excuses.

I wasn’t sure what Tyler liked more. If it’s me, or the idea of me. Every conversation somehow circled back to Lena. Knowing her, she probably caught the lovesick way he stared at her and tossed me his way to distract him.

"No, no, Nova—she’s my homeboy’s girl, I swear."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. Is he trying to convince me or himself?

Another reason why I prefer elderly Mature men. They know what they want and they take it without hesitating.

I couldn’t wait to end this sham of a talking stage.

"Anything you say," I muttered, dry and flat.

But then, there it was again. That weight. That watching. The invisible prickle crawled up my spine.

Tyler kept talking, but I hung up before I could draw any more attention to myself. My thumb tapped fast, punching in the emergency number and leaving it ready on the keypad before slipping the phone into my front pocket. Quick exit plan. Safety net.

The footsteps behind me didn’t fade. Rather they quickened.

So did mine.

I should’ve finished earlier, caught the free staff bus. But no, stupid me had stayed back, chewing over Grant’s words. Now those words didn’t matter. Not when something worse was breathing down my neck.

It wasn’t Grant. Why would it be?

And then my godmother’s warning from last week slammed back into my mind like a door blown open by wind:

"There’s a man sniffing around your past, Chérie. Be careful."

I’d brushed it off. Called her bluff. Thought it was another attempt to squeeze money out of me.

"Asking about your pa... and your ma..." she’d whispered, voice low, secretive.

I told myself it was Grant. Who else would be digging?

But now? Now, I wasn’t so sure.

The steps behind me grew louder. Closer.

"Hello there."

The voice slithered through the night, deep and rasping, like gravel dragged across concrete.

My gasp tore from my throat, too sharp, too loud. Every instinct screamed for me to run.

But my legs... they didn’t move. It was like my shoes had stapled themselves to the pavement.

This wasn’t Grant. This voice didn’t belong to anyone I knew.

This better be a prank, I prayed, clutching my bag tighter to my chest. Not that there was anything worth stealing in there besides a few pens and two hardcovers of erotica.

My other hand slid into my pocket, thumb hovering over the dial button. Just one press. Just one call. But before I could, I caught him moving closer.. too close.

"Hello there," he repeated. Slower this time. Crueler.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Panic gets you killed.

"Uh—hi."

The word cracked out of me like brittle glass. I shoved it into the night air like an offering, as if politeness could protect me.

I spun on my heel and forced my legs to move, sneakers smacking the wet pavement in frantic rhythm. For three heartbeats, I convinced myself it was fine. That he’d turn away.

But no.

He was following.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

Okay. Options. Nova please think.

Cross the street? No. Too dark. The streetlight there was broken, the whole block swallowed in shadow.

Call someone? No. Too obvious. If he was dangerous, that would only make him angrier.

Think, Nova. Think.

I stopped abruptly, crouched, and fumbled with my shoelace like I’d forgotten to tie it. My fingers shook so badly they tangled.

I lifted my head, slow and casual.

He’d stopped too.

Waiting.

My stomach dropped like an elevator with cut cables.

I bolted across the street anyway, headlights from a passing car washing over me for a split second. I prayed the driver saw me, saw the panic in my posture but the car sped on, leaving me stranded.

The footsteps quickened.

"Nova."

The voice hissed.

I froze.

My name. He knew my name.

This wasn’t random.

My godmother’s words clanged in my head, loud as alarm bells:

"There’s a man sniffing around your past, Chérie. Be careful."

My throat went dry.

"Who... who are you?" I croaked, even as my body screamed RUN.

He didn’t answer. Just laughed. Low. Dark.

So I ran.

"Stop!"

His voice cracked, winded. Good. Let him chase.

"Nova—stop!"

This time it sounded different. Softer. Higher. Almost... feminine.

I skidded to a halt, sneakers squealing against the pavement, chest heaving. I whirled around just in time to see the man— no, the figure—rip off a black mask.

And my heart stopped.

What the actual fuck!