The Hockey Star’s Remorse by Riley Above Story

Chapter 187

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After returning home from the confrontation with Andy, I felt a whirlwind of emotions.

After returning home, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clung to me like a second skin. The phone in my

hand felt heavier than usual as I stared at Timothy’s name on the screen. I pressed the call button, and the

anticipation mounted with each passing ring. But he didn’t pick up.

The silence from him was deafening, and my mind couldn’t help but conjure the worst possible scenarios. I tried to tell myself he was just busy, that he would call me back, but who knew how he would react to what I’d done.

I paced back and forth in the apartment, unable to shake the paranoia that had taken root in my mind. What if Andy was right about Timothy? I wasn’t only doing this for my benefit, but Andy’s words on me being out of Timothy’s league cut deep.

As the evening wore on, I decided to take a deep breath and focus on the one thing that had started all of this – the damning photos on the thumb drive. I needed to have a clear plan for how to use them, how to expose the truth without jeopardizing my own safety. Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

I settled down at my desk, powered up my computer, and inserted the thumb drive. The photos appeared on the screen, each a slightly blurred image of Stella and Andy.

I contemplated sending these photos to a reputable PR agent anonymously. Maybe they could handle the situation discreetly. I knew that going public with this could result in dire consequences.

Andy and Stella would stop at nothing to protect themselves, and they had the resources to do so. If I wasn’t careful, I could end up as the scapegoat, the one taking the fall for the whole sordid affair.

I went to my email, intending to contact a PR agent, but hesitated. Doubt and fear crept in again. What if Andy’s threat was more potent than I’d imagined? What if my attempts to bring justice to light had truly put me in danger?

I looked around my modest apartment as if the shadows concealed hidden threats, and the silence of the room only intensified my paranoia.

Just as I began to doubt my next steps, a notification chimed from my computer. An email had landed in my inbox, and the subject line sent a chill down my spine:

Emergency calls only Mu

“You’ve been pissing off the wrong people lately.”

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My hand shook as I clicked to open the message. The body of the email was blank, but the sender’s email

address was scrambled and untraceable.

My heart raced as / wondered if Andy had somehow tracked my every move. He was unpredictable and had already proven himself capable of violence

This was a message that left no room for misinterpretation. My

had a focus, a name to attach to my fears.

paranolo

now

“Is this you, Andy?” I typed back, my fingers trembling. I had to know if he was behind this. There was a long pause, and I could almost feel the tension building in the silence. Finally, a response appeared on the screen.

The reply was terse, chilling. “No. He’s not the one you should be worried about.”

My stomach dropped, and I felt a knot of fear tightening in my chest. I could hardly breathe as I fired back, “Is

this Bruce?”

The seconds dragged on, each moment stretching out like an eternity, until the reply finally came, “Hi, Coco. You’re playing hard to get, but I’ll find you eventually.”

I stared at the screen, heart pounding in my ears. The message was a sinister promise, and I had no doubt that he was capable of fulfilling it. I felt the weight of my vulnerability, and it crushed me.

“And how do you expect to do that?” I typed back, my hands trembling.

The response was more cryptic, “You’ll help me out.”

I couldn’t make sense of it. What did he mean? My fingers danced across the keyboard as I demanded clarification, “Help you out how? What do you want from me?”

As soon as I sent the message, a sick realization washed over me.

Bruce’s reply was instant and chilling, “You’re already helping me out. Smile for the camera!”

The webcam light on my laptop was on, and it wasn’t a technical glitch. Bruce was watching me. Panic clawed its way up my throat, and I reached for the camera, trying to cover it with my hand as if that would make a difference.

I slammed the laptop shut, the screen going black, but the damage was done. My heart raced as I tried to

Emergency calls onlyML

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process what had just happened. Bruce was not just a hacker; he was something far more sinister. He had eyes on me, on my every move, and I had no idea how long he had been watching.

I stood in the darkness of my apartment, my mind racing. Fear had me in its grip, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had underestimated Bruce’s capabilities. He was a shadowy figure with the power to infiltrate my life, to invade my privacy, and I had no defense against it.

Every creak in the floorboards, every distant sound outside my window, sent a shiver down my spine. I felt like a hunted animal, trapped and exposed.

I tried calling Timothy again, but there was still no answer. I tried Aria, then Lucas, but they were all busy with work. I was the only one left floating around my apartment, aimless and alone. I didn’t even have Olive, since she’d gone to a friend’s house for the day.

As minutes turned into hours, I tried to regain control over my racing thoughts. I needed a plan, a way to protect myself. I had no doubt that Bruce would come after me, and I had to be prepared. I powered up my laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I researched ways to secure my online presence.

I changed my passwords, enabled two–factor authentication on every account I had, and wiped my computer clean of any sensitive information. It was a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control. But deep down, I knew that Bruce was more capable than I could ever be in this game.

The hours dragged on, and exhaustion finally overcame my fear. I curled up on the couch, my laptop at my side, and tried to sleep. But every creak of the floor, every gust of wind outside, sent me bolting upright. I was haunted by the knowledge that I was being watched, that my every move was being monitored.

The night passed fitfully, and by morning, I was a mess of frayed nerves and exhaustion. I knew I couldn’t go on like this, constantly looking over my shoulder, constantly afraid. I needed help, but I had no one to turn to. At this point, I knew Bruce was dangerous enough to harm anyone that got in his way.

I hadn’t even asked if he was the one that shot Scarlett, but that seemed irrefutable now. Our days of playing mental games were over.

He was out for my blood.