I practically flew through the front door of my house, locking it behind me with a resounding click. My home, usually a comforting haven, felt like a cage now, a place where Grayson's presence could seep in through the walls.
I pulled out my phone and dialed James' number. He answered on the second ring, his voice a familiar balm to my frayed nerves.
"Scarlett? What's up?"
"I need to see you," I said, my voice tight. "It's important."
"Right now? I'm kind of in the middle of…" he trailed off, and I could practically hear the playful wink in his voice. James always had a lady friend or two hanging around.
"Yes, now," I insisted. "This is serious, James. It's about Grayson."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Grayson? What's he done now?" James knew about my unease regarding Grayson. He'd seen the way he looked at me, the possessive glint in his eyes.
"He's stalking me," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "Leaving me blue roses, watching me… Wilson just told me he's planning something big, something that involves me."
"Shit, Scarlett," James said, his voice laced with concern. "Okay, okay, stay calm. I'll be right there. Don't open the door for anyone, understand? Not even if they say they're the police."
"Okay," I said, clinging to his words like a lifeline. "Hurry, James."
I hung up the phone and paced the length of the room, my mind racing. I needed a plan, a way to protect myself from Grayson's obsession. I grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer, its cold steel a small comfort in my trembling hand. I knew it wouldn't be enough to stop him if he really wanted to hurt me, but it was better than nothing.
I glanced at the schedule Wilson had given me. It was a detailed breakdown of Grayson's meetings, appointments, and even his personal time. According to the schedule, he had a meeting with his board of directors tomorrow morning, followed by a private lunch at some fancy restaurant downtown. Then, in the evening, he was supposed to attend a charity gala.
The gala… that was my chance. I could confront him there, in a public setting, where he wouldn't dare to make a scene. It was risky, but it was the only opportunity I could see to get his attention without putting myself in immediate danger.
A half an hour later, James arrived, banging on the door with a frantic urgency. I threw the locks and pulled him inside, wrapping him in a tight hug.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning me for injuries.
"I'm fine," I said, pulling away. "But I'm scared, James. He's really freaking me out."
He took my hands in his. "Okay, listen to me. We're going to figure this out. First, tell me everything Wilson said."
I recounted my conversation with Wilson, detailing Grayson's obsession and his ominous plans. James listened intently, his brow furrowed in concern.
"He's completely lost it," James said, shaking his head. "I always knew he had a thing for you, but I never thought he'd go this far."
"I'm going to confront him," I said, my voice firm. "At the charity gala tomorrow night."
James' eyes widened. "Are you crazy? That's way too dangerous, Scarlett. He could do anything."
"I know," I said. "But I can't keep hiding. I need to make him understand that he can't control me."
He sighed. "Okay, I'm not going to try to talk you out of it. You're too stubborn. But I'm going with you. I'm not letting you face him alone."
"Thank you, James," I said, a wave of relief washing over me. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
We spent the rest of the night planning our strategy, going over every possible scenario. We decided that James would stay close to me at all times, acting as a buffer between me and Grayson. We'd try to keep the conversation calm and rational, but we'd be prepared to leave at a moment's notice if things got out of hand.
As the sun began to rise, casting a pale glow over the city, I felt a sense of nervous anticipation. I was terrified of what Grayson might do, but I was also determined to stand up to him, to reclaim my life from his obsessive grip.
Tomorrow night, the game would change. I would no longer be a pawn in Grayson Thorne's twisted fantasy. I would be the one calling the shots.