Olivia Evans looked absolutely petrified of Vincent Lowell—so much so that she barely dared to breathe.
While she sorted materials at the construction site, I hauled the heavy loads. By evening, she finally worked up the nerve to approach me, her cheeks flushed with anxiety. "C-can I stay with you tonight?" she stammered. "Vincent won’t stop staring at me..."
I tensed, glancing over my shoulder. Sure enough, Vincent was still working in the distance, his gaze flicking toward Olivia every few seconds.
"Fine," I agreed.
Truth be told, Vincent’s behavior rubbed me the wrong way. A guy like that? Trouble waiting to happen.
If I felt uneasy around him, I could only imagine how much worse it was for Olivia—a young woman stuck in a place like this.
Besides, I liked her. She was quiet, hardworking—nothing like the kind of person who deserved this kind of fear.
That night, Vincent dragged us out for dinner. Halfway through his third drink, he started ranting about Scarlett Lopez, cursing up a storm while shooting Olivia these disgusted looks.
Ever since the Scarlett incident, his patience with women had worn paper-thin.
Olivia kept her head down, eating in silence before trailing us back to the site.
Maybe because she didn’t make a fuss, Vincent left her alone.
By the time we got back, it was late. I headed for the prefab dormitory, Olivia shadowing me like a ghost.
The second she stepped inside, she whipped around, eyes darting to the doorway. I shook my head—she was wound so tight, she might snap.
"Relax," I said. "The site’s still hiring, so right now, it’s just me in here. You want the top bunk, or—"
I barely got the words out before she curled up beside me, gripping my arm like a lifeline.
"I’ll stay right here."
What could I do? I nodded, pulling the mosquito net down around us.
"Please… let me go."
I’d just drifted off when her desperate whisper jolted me awake. Before I could respond, her eyes flew open, wide with fear.
She pressed closer, her voice trembling. "Save me."
Olivia was terrified of men like Vincent—the kind who saw women as prey.
You could dodge trouble once. Maybe twice. But not forever.
Vincent’s stories about "work-site marriages" flashed through my mind, and my stomach twisted.
One more month, I reminded myself. Get paid. Get out. Never step foot on another damn construction site again.
But watching Olivia shake beside me, tears streaking her face, something in me cracked. I pulled her closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.
No words. Just a silent promise: You’re not alone.
Her quiet sobs hitched. "Someone’s listening outside."
Ice shot through my veins. I lifted the mosquito net, scanning the darkness—and there, just beyond the door, a shadow lurked.
Vincent. Eavesdropping on us.