One thing I’ve learnt from just two days of self-defence classes is that I am the furthest thing from being fit that anyone could possibly be. I’m watching in awe as the female instructor demonstrates a move where she throws a grown-ass man over her shoulder. The guy lands on his back, on the floor, with a groan. But he’s also smiling like he’s done this a million times before.

“My cousin Axe—he makes it easy. Who wants to try?” Hope asks the class, pointing to her partner.

I really want to know how to do that, so my hand shoots up. “I’ll do it,” I say and walk to the front of the class.

Hope and the guy, Axe, share a look before I swear I hear her murmur, “It’s your funeral,” to him.

“Okay. I was watching but what do I do exactly?” I ask them.

Hope shows me how to stand, while Axe positions himself behind me. His arm comes around my neck, and Hope whispers into my ear, “Stomp on his foot as hard as you can, then elbow him in the ribs before bending and rolling his weight over your shoulder.”

I do exactly what she says, and to my surprise, Axe flips onto the floor by my feet. He groans with a hand reaching up to clutch his ribs. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Shit, are you okay?” I ask, bending over to check him for… I don’t know what.

“He’s fine and, honestly, that’s the least of his worries right now.” Hope smirks, then turns to the rest of the room. “Class dismissed. See you next time.”

“Will you be here next time? There was a different teacher before, a slightly more sleezy one. I’d much prefer you…” I tell her.

“Uh, yeah, I think I’ll be here until we find someone to fill the vacancy. I’m Hope Williamson.” She holds out a hand to me as she introduces herself formally.

“Lucy,” I offer in return, purposely leaving off my last name. I mean, I know the Williamsons are one of Australia’s wealthier families and all, and that they own this chain of gyms. I just don’t like being judged because I’m a Christianson.

Hope’s smile is genuine and big. “It’s great to meet you, Lucy. So is there a reason you’re here? Not that you need one. I mean, every woman should be taking defence classes,” she says.

“I have a stalker,” I blurt out, needing to tell someone. Why I’ve chosen to tell a complete stranger instead of my family? Who knows?

“A stalker? Are you okay? Do you need help?” Her eyes dart from side to side and her brows furrow.

“I’m okay, I think. It’s just…” I shrug a shoulder. I don’t even know what else to say.

“What makes you think you have a stalker?” she asks.

“The fact that I’m getting random messages, and that someone is sending me flowers and breaking into my apartment to leave them. I even had a tulip left on my study desk at the library yesterday.”

“Maybe it’s just a guy who really likes you and doesn’t know how to tell you?” she suggests. “But the breaking into your apartment, that part is fucking creepy.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thanks for today.” I wave and walk away, my face heating up with the realization I just told a complete stranger about my personal problems.

Opening my assigned locker a few minutes later, I reach in to grab my bag and my hand stops midair when it lands on something cold and soft. I quickly pull away like I’ve been burned and stare inside. Sitting on top of my Louis Vuitton gym bag is a blue tulip. A fucking single blue tulip. I look over my shoulder, pick up the flower, and bring it to my nose. It smells amazing, of course. Then I grab my gym bag and head for the door, tossing the flower in a bin as I pass while hoping that whoever put it there is watching.

I MAKE a stop at the florist on the way home and buy myself the biggest bunch of red roses they have in stock. When I enter my apartment, I place the roses in a vase and snap a picture of myself smelling them.

I post the picture to all my socials with the caption: Thanks for the roses, my love. How did you know that they’re my favourite?

I want whoever this stalker guy is to think I’m in a relationship. I wonder if I can get someone to fake date me, just to make it seem that much more realistic? I laugh like a crazy person at the thought. Since when have I ever had an issue finding dates?

Needing someone to agree to fake date me is a new low.

Post notifications start pinging on my phone almost immediately, so I check each account and read through the comments with a smile. There are a lot of guys, who have tried and failed to win me over, commenting how me “being off the market” is a real tragedy. One even offers to buy me a rose farm.

Is that even a thing?

As I’m about to reply to some of their comments, a text message comes in.

UNKNOWN:

Who sent you flowers, Lucy? S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

UNKNOWN:

Red roses? Really? You deserve way better than generic fucking shit like a bunch of red roses.

I close out of my inbox without responding. I’m not feeding into his psychotic bullshit anymore. Opening my post again, I start replying to the comments, giving the guys way more encouragement than I usually would. I even invited one of them to drop into my DMs. Literally replied with “drop me a DM” and a little love heart emoji. My text messages have been blowing up. Apparently my stalker is not impressed. I, however, am enjoying this change in dynamic. Being able to get at him when I’m always so worried about him getting to me.

That being said, curiosity does finally have me checking my inbox again.

UNKNOWN:

Little Bee, you are playing with fire.

UNKNOWN:

Do you know what happens when you play with fire, Lucy? You get burned.

UNKNOWN:

LUCY, I swear to God I will end them. All of them. Is that what you want? You want this city painted red? Turned into one giant crime scene? Because I will fucking do it.

UNKNOWN:

You really are pushing my limits here, Little Bee.

My social pings with a new DM. I close out of the text messages, still not having replied to his threats, and open my socials. There’s a message request from someone I’m not following. I click accept and instantly wish I hadn’t.

THE HIVE:

Little Bee, the only person dropping into your DMs is me. Delete the others, or I’ll delete them. From this world. Permanently.

What the actual fuck? And who the hell calls themselves The Hive? I want to know why he chose that name. I’m so tempted to ask, but I don’t want to engage with the creep. So, instead, I shut off my phone completely. Leaving it on the coffee table, next to my new vase of red roses, and head into my bedroom.

It’s Sunday. I need to get ready to go to my parents’ house. Missing Sunday dinner isn’t an option in our family. Unless your name’s Xavier. He seems to get away with it just fine, always using work as an excuse.

XAVIER WAS A NO-SHOW for dinner again—no surprise there. Which leaves me alone with my parents while earning me their full attention. I know it isn’t a bad thing. I like being doted on. Until my mum starts trying to set me up with her friends’ sons…

According to her, they’re all Melbourne’s most eligible bachelors and I should give them a chance to win my heart. My parents have been together forever, and they believe everyone should get to experience the kind of love they share. I want to find that person for me too, just not yet. I need to finish school, travel, and do all the things you’re meant to do before you settle down.

“Oh, before I forget, I have an event coming up in two weeks and I need you to attend,” Mum says as our plates are cleared from the table.

“An event? What’s it for?” I ask. I don’t mind going. These things are usually for a really great cause, and I absolutely love having an excuse to dress up.

“The fundraiser is for my friend Ella’s foundation. It supports mental health for young girls, but in particular it provides care for self-harmers,” Mum says.

“Oh, okay. Sure, I’ll come with you. Just let me know the details,” I tell her and stand from the table to excuse myself. “It’s late. I think I’m just going to crash in my room tonight.”

“Oh, perfect, we can have breakfast together.” Mum smiles enthusiastically.

“Your mother is feeling the empty nest, Lucy.” Dad chuckles.

“Oh, please, it was you who suggested we adopt another kid because this house feels too empty,” Mum mocks his voice.

“Don’t worry, with the way Xavier’s making his way through town, I’m sure you’ll have a house full of grandbabies any day now.” I laugh.

“That’s not even remotely funny, Lucy.” Mum turns her glare on me.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I shrug. I lean down and kiss my father’s cheek before rounding the table to hug my mum. “Night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

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