CHAPTER 4

SKYLAR'S POV

The weeks after my mother's announcement were a whirlwind of emotions. I went through the motions of life, but everything felt like it was happening in a fog. The reality of her getting married—without a wedding, just some paperwork—left me numb. How could everything change so fast?

At work, the unease followed me like a shadow. I clocked in at the convenience store, ready for another long shift, but I couldn't focus. My hands were shaky, and my mind kept replaying thoughts of this new family I was supposed to adjust to. Two new stepbrothers, a stepdad—complete strangers to me. I wasn't ready for it, and the more I tried to shake it off, the more it consumed me.

I was stocking shelves when Mr. Davenport, my boss, walked in. His heavy footsteps echoed behind me, and I already knew what was coming before he opened his mouth. "Skylar," he snapped, his voice like nails on a chalkboard, "Are you planning to finish those shelves today, or are you just rearranging the same items over and over?"

I swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile. "I'm almost done, sir."

He rolled his eyes. "Almost isn't good enough. You've been slow all week. What's going on? You think you can slack off because you've been here a while?"

I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. He had a way of making everything feel like my fault, even when it wasn't. "No, sir. I've just had a lot on my mind. It won't happen again."

"Better not," he muttered, narrowing his eyes as if daring me to make another mistake.

The rest of the shift was a disaster. I dropped a stack of canned goods, and when Mr. Davenport caught me sweeping up the mess, his face twisted in annoyance. "Unbelievable. I swear you're trying to get fired at this point."

"I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice barely audible. "It was an accident."

"Accidents don't pay the bills, Skylar. Do you want to lose this job? Because at this rate, that's where you're heading."

His words stung, but I forced myself to keep going, trying to get through the day without breaking down.

The second shift was a nightmare. It felt like every customer had a personal mission to make my life harder, and I was barely keeping it together. My body was exhausted, my mind frazzled, and the stress of my mistakes from earlier in the day hung over me like a dark cloud.

A woman tapped her nails impatiently on the counter as I struggled to bag her items. "You're slower than molasses," she snapped. "Do you even know how to do your job?"

I bit my tongue, forcing a tight smile. "I'm sorry for the wait, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes. "You should be. If I wanted to wait this long, I'd have done my shopping in the next town over."

Another customer barked for more bags, and I was juggling complaints left and right. My head throbbed, and all I wanted was for the day to end. When the final customer left, I nearly collapsed from relief. I was gathering my things to leave, ready to forget the day, when the door chimed.

My heart dropped.

He walked in, his steps slow and deliberate, the same unsettling grin on his face. The stalker.

I felt my pulse race, and my hands instinctively tightened around the edge of the counter. I had hoped I wouldn't see him again, but here he was, his eyes locked on me like I was prey.

"Welcome," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was hammering. "How can I help you?"

He didn't even look at the shelves. His gaze stayed fixed on me as he moved closer. "I'm just here to chat," he said, his voice low and sickly sweet. "You seem like the kind of girl I'd like to get to know."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I forced a breath, keeping my face neutral. "I'm not interested. You need to leave," I said, my voice firmer than I felt inside.

But his smile only widened, as if my words were a challenge. "You don't have to play hard to get. I know you like the attention."

I felt the anger rise in my chest. I'd had enough of this day and enough of him. "Listen," I said, my voice louder now, "I don't know what you think, but you need to leave. Now. Or I'm calling the police."

For a second, I thought he'd back off. But instead, he grabbed a few random items—a candy bar, a soda—and sauntered over to the counter, still smiling like he'd won. My hands shook as I rang up the items as quickly as I could, praying this would be the end of it.

He handed me a crumpled bill, and I quickly made change, ready to bolt the second he walked out. But just as I turned to gather my things, I felt his foot sweep out, tripping me.

I stumbled forward, crashing into a display of glass jars. The sound of shattering glass filled the store, and I hit the floor, my hands stinging from the shards. I looked up at him, and he just smirked.

"Oops," he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Before I could even gather my thoughts, Mr. Davenport stormed out from the back room, his face crimson with rage. "What the hell is going on here?" he bellowed, his eyes darting from the broken display to me, then to the stalker, who was already heading for the door, whistling as he went.

I scrambled to stand, my legs shaking. "It wasn't me," I stammered, pointing toward the door. "He tripped me on purpose!"

But Mr. Davenport wasn't interested in explanations. His face twisted with fury. "I don't care what excuse you've got this time, Skylar," he barked. "I've had enough of your screw-ups for one day. You're fired. And don't even think about your last paycheck—I'm done with you."

I stood there, frozen in shock. Fired? Just like that?