After I text Joseph and Lance to let them know I made it into their place, I order takeout, grab a glass of wine, and flip on the TV.

I’m on a mostly empty stomach, and the first few sips--or should I say gulps--of wine go right to my head.

Carter seemed so damn certain that he hadn’t been with anyone else. It was a little disgusting how right Katherine was.

After staying with my family all week, after everything we’ve been through in the past year, hell--in all of our lives--it turns out my intuition was right. Like father, like son.

That Tarot card reader was right on.

Beware an obvious deception.

Thank God Katherine was there.

Still, it doesn’t change the feeling of misery in my gut, knowing I’ve been betrayed. I should have stuck with Josh.

Nice. Safe. Boring.

Blowing out an audible exhale, I shake my head. I want to believe Carter, and in my heart, some part of me does.

But that’s just me being weak. And I can’t be weak anymore. I’ve got to do what’s right for me, for once.

I lived with my family for too long, tried to fix my own father and his problems. All I did was run up a load of credit card debt paying bills, plead with him in vain not to drink, and delay my dreams of dancing.

No more.

I’ve got to be strong, and start putting myself first.

Separating from Carter is a painful, but necessary first step toward that.

Still, a faint voice lingers, asking what seems like an impossible question:

What if Carter was telling the truth?

It’s possible, though unlikely.

I can’t make it past the enormous coincidence:

Why would Katherine Beckett, a social media consultant who I met on a plane, randomly mention to me that Carter was with someone the other night?

The buzzer rings, and I press the button to open the door for the delivery person.

Thai food sounds like the perfect cure to my mood right now, as well as my grumbling stomach.

When I open the door, I’m greeted by a man with narrow, blue eyes, stubble, and cropped hair.

He doesn’t look like your average delivery man.

“Delivery for Lacy?” I ask.

He doesn’t smile. “You’re Lacy, right?”

I nod. “Where is the food?”

A slight smile--an evil one--tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Well that was the easiest it’s ever been for me. Didn’t even have to pick the lock.”

Sensing something very wrong, I move to slam the door shut, but he doesn’t let me.

I notice this man has a bag in his hand, but it’s a black duffle. Not Thai.

“Nah ah,” he says, sticking his foot in the door. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

A rush of adrenaline rocks through me as I push into the door with all my might to shut it, but the man has his boot shoved in between the door and the frame so I can’t close it all the way.

I try to use my phone to dial 9-1-1, but before I can, he bowls over the door, knocking me from my feet.

“Who the fuck are you? Get away from me,” I yell.

His face is menacing as he moves toward me, undeterred.

I open hand palm him in the nose, and he lets out a yell. Moving toward Joseph’s kitchen, I grab a cast iron pan and swing it at his face.

The man is agile, ducks, and swings around behind me.

He’s got some sort of cloth in his hand, puts it over my mouth. After a few breaths, I feel myself weakening, fading away, and losing consciousness.

When I wake up, I feel dizzy. I hear the man speaking on the phone to someone.

“Yeah. I’ve got her here. Nah, it was easy. She let me in. She even had some Thai food delivered. This crap is delicious.”

Trying to move my arms, I realize I’m taped down to a chair, duct tape wrapped on my mouth like a goddamn movie.

My entire body tenses, straining to move. Even an inch. All I can do is wiggle.

The man continues.

“Kill her now? Or later?...wait until Carter gets here?...got it...And then what do you want to do?...both?...damn, alright...I’ll wait for you to get here and make sure it’s not too messy.”

He spins me around, and I face him. I can feel the perspiration on my forehead.

“Well lady, that Thai food was fucking delicious. Thank you for ordering that.”

We sit for a few minutes, and the man’s face is etched into my permanent memory.

Deep set, light blue eyes. A birthmark on his right cheek. Somewhere in his thirties or forties, with withered skin.

I guess this is what an assassin looks like?

He smiles.

“Don’t worry so much. It’ll all be over soon enough.”

After a few moments, the buzzer rings.

The man gets up and slowly walks over to the intercom.

He presses the button to hear the person at the door.

“Lacy, it’s Carter. Let me in. I’m worried about something. We need to talk.”

I strain against the tape on my mouth, trying to scream, but I can’t make even a peep. The man turns to me, taking his hand off the intercom.

“Right on time. Right on time,” he says.

All I can do is hope this is some sort of bad dream.