Chapter 150

This guy was living in a fucking mansion. And as if that wasn’t enough, it was in the heart of the city—a giant hotel piercing the sky like a glass needle. From what I’d heard, he occupied the top floors: eight bedrooms, three living rooms, the works. Damn. Compared to my place, I felt like I’d been crammed in a cage my whole life.

I took a drag from my smoke and stared at the entrance. Two bodyguards stood like statues, hands linked in front, eyes scanning everything. Formal uniforms, earpieces—professional. No way I was waltzing in there without a plan.

Fuck, would twenty minutes be enough? Elevator to the top floor alone would eat ten. Maybe I needed to grind a few more credits for a third Time Stop as backup?

I whistled low. "Wow. This guy’s living the dream."

My phone buzzed. I fished it out, still eyeing the building. Mendy’s name flashed on the screen. Shit—I really told her I loved her, huh? Just thinking about it made me cringe.

"Hello?" I answered, pressing the phone to my ear.

"FUCK! STOP, MENDY!" Penelope’s voice exploded through the speaker, followed by a sharp exhale. "Evan. You have to come here. Now."

"Wait, why?" I asked, straightening. "What’s wrong?"

"Mendy’s house was broken into. Stuff stolen," Penelope said, her voice tight. "She’s convinced it was Richard."

"I talked to Richard yesterday," I said, flicking ash into the rain. "Caught him balls-deep in a hooker. Said he was done with Mendy. Didn’t give a shit anymore."

"Then come tell her that yourself," Penelope snapped. "She’s going cra—STOP, MENDY! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? STOP YANKING YOUR HAIR!"

Mendy’s screams cut through the background—raw, panicked, terrified. My stomach dropped. Poor girl. Richard wasn’t enough; now some thief had gutted her place.

"She’s having a panic attack," Penelope said, breathless. "I gotta go. Please, Evan. ASAP."

"Alright, alright," I said. "Be there in five."

Panic attack? Mendy never had those before—or Richard would’ve told me about it. This had to be new. After the pills. After me. The guilt hit like a punch to the gut. I’d ruined her. I was a fucking idiot.

I exhaled hard, pocketed the phone, and stepped to the curb, arm raised for a taxi. Traffic crawled. One rolled up—lights off, occupied. I jogged over anyway, knocked on the window. The driver, an old guy with a thick beard, rolled it down. Light was red, and I was in the middle of traffic.

"Hey," I said. "Emergency. Friend’s in trouble. Can you take me?"

"Got someone in back," he said. "Sorry, kid."

"Please."

He glanced in the rearview. "Lady, mind if he hops in?"

I looked past him. A woman sat in the back—buzzcut, dark skin, sleeveless shirt showing off serious muscle. A crooked scar ran from her right eye down to her nose. Minor scars laced her arms. Thirty? Thirty-five? Hard to tell. Tits perfect—smaller than Jasmine’s, but damn. She stared at me, cold.

"Hey," I said. "Please, ma’am. It’s important. My friend’s house got robbed. She’s having a panic attack. I have to get there."

She crossed her arms, eyes locked on mine. A beat. Then she nodded.

I smiled, slid into the front passenger seat, and sighed. "Thank you."

"So," the driver said, "where to?"

"We’re close," I said. "Left here, straight ahead."

"I need to go right for the lady," he said. "Sorry."

"It’s fine," the woman said from the back. "He’s paying for his ride. And my extra."

"Yes, yes," I said.

Light turned green. We rolled forward, just catching it. I was tight on cash, but for Mendy? I’d pay double. The guilt was eating me alive.

"I’m Evan, by the way," I said, glancing in the mirror. "Thanks again."

"Sophia," she said, and that was it.

Another red light. I bounced my leg, staring out the window. Needed to smoke.

"Mind if I smoke?" I asked the driver.

He gave me a look, then rolled my window down from his side without a word. I took that as yes, lit up, and blew smoke into the rain.

"This friend of yours," the driver said, "girlfriend? Why the panic attack?"

"Too complicated," I said, exhaling. "And boring. But no—she’s not my girlfriend."

The taxi lurched forward, tires hissing on wet asphalt. Rain blurred the windshield into streaks of neon and gray. I glanced in the rear-view: Sophia sat rigid, arms crossed, jaw tight. She wasn’t happy—didn’t like sharing space, didn’t like me. Her scar caught the passing streetlights like a lightning bolt frozen mid-flash.

Another red light. I flicked the cigarette out the window; it spun, sparked, died in a puddle.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again—Mendy’s name.

"Hello," I answered.

"Evan," Penelope said, voice steadier now. "Mendy’s... okay. Her mom and I calmed her down."

"Okay..." I said. "You call the cops?"

"That’s the problem." A pause. "No break-in signs. She just insisted Richard was here, took her stuff."

"Jesus..." I muttered. "What do you think?"

Penelope exhaled. "I think she’s paranoid. You really talked to Richard?"

"Like I told you," I said, gesturing left to the driver. "Caught him with a hooker. Zero fucks about Mendy."

"How did she even find this idiot..." Penelope sighed. "God..."

"Cameras nearby?" I asked. "Neighbors might have footage."

"You’re right. Can you come help check?"

"On my way. Five minutes."

"You said that five minutes ago."

"Traffic’s murder." The light stayed red. "Ask her what triggered it. Something had to set her off."

"I think it was just the panic attack," Penelope said. "She’s been... off."

"I talked to her yesterday. She sounded done with Richard. What if someone did break in?"

The light flipped green. The taxi rolled.

"I don’t know," Penelope said. "Come. No cops yet—need proof."

"Text me the your number. I’ll call when I’m there."

"Will do. Hurry."

I hung up, shook my head, stared out the window. Everything was collapsing at once: Kim’s eviction, Richard’s bullshit, Guy’s safe, the mansion, the grind for Time Stops. I was bone-tired.

"Things that serious, huh?" the driver asked.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Turn right here, straight shot."

Ten minutes crawled by. We left the city’s neon arteries for quieter suburban veins—wet lawns, porch lights glowing behind curtains, driveways with minivans and kids’ bikes. The rain eased to a drizzle, drumming softer on the roof. Sophia never spoke. The driver hummed an old tune under his breath.

I pointed. "Stop there—that blue house."

Brakes squeaked. I dug out my last crumpled bills—fare plus extra for Sophia’s detour. Handed it over.

"Thanks," I said.

The taxi pulled away, taillights fading into the mist.

I walked the short path, boots splashing puddles, and knocked. The door cracked open—Penelope, eyes red-rimmed, hair messy.

"Hey," she said, tilting her head inside. "Come on in."

"How is she?" I asked, stepping over the threshold.

"In her bedroom," Penelope said, closing the door. "We barely calmed her down."

"Damn..."

I walked down the short hallway, my shoes sinking into the plush carpet with each step, the muffled sound barely registering over the faint hum of the air conditioner.

I’d caused this mess, even if indirectly. Richard, the pills, the break-in paranoia—it all looped back to me somehow.

I reached Mendy’s bedroom door, the wood cool under my knuckles, and pushed it open slowly, the hinges giving a soft creak. Okay... here I was now.

Penelope’s voice drifted from behind me, low and tired. "Good luck."

I stepped inside and closed the door with a gentle click, sealing us in the dim room. Posters of old bands peeled at the edges on the walls, a vanity mirror cracked in one corner, clothes strewn like casualties on the floor. Mendy was curled on her bed, knees to chest, but the second she saw me, she shot up like a jack-in-the-box, her eyes wild and red-rimmed, hair a tangled mess framing her pale face. She crossed the room in three frantic strides, grabbing my arms with surprising strength, her nails digging in just enough to sting.

"Evan, someone was here—I swear it," she blurted, her voice cracking, words tumbling out in a rush. "My jewelry box was flipped open, drawers pulled out. It has to be him!"

I kept my expression neutral, my Charm stat at 12 helping me stay calm even as her panic clawed at the air. "Okay, Mendy, I believe you," I said, my voice steady, reassuring. "But do you have any proof? Something concrete we can show the cops?"

She froze, her grip loosening, cheeks flushing a deep crimson that spread to her ears. Her eyes darted to the floor, then back to me, then away again. "I... I have something, but—ugh. It’s... I can’t say it. It’s embarrassing. Just... trust me, okay?"

I took her trembling hands in mine, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, smell the faint trace of her shampoo mixed with sweat from the attack. Her fingers were ice-cold.

"Look..." I said softly, locking eyes with her. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe you aren’t. Either way, you shouldn’t act like this. I heard what happened on the phone, Mendy. The screaming, the hair-pulling—it scared the shit out of everyone."

"I... I know," she whispered, exhaling a shaky breath that trembled on the edge of another sob. "I was just... so scared. I feel like I’m being watched all the time, Evan. By Richard. He’s living rent-free in my mind, whispering crap even when he’s not here."

"I talked to him yesterday," I said, squeezing her hands gently. "Face-to-face. He said he was done with you—called you and Kayla... well, excuse my language, but he called you and Kayla ’sluts’ he didn’t care about anymore."

"Did you really?" she asked, her voice small, searching my face for any lie.

"Yes. He even had a fucking hooker over. Blonde, fake tits, the works. Didn’t glance up once while I stood there. Guy’s moved on—in his own twisted way."

"Okay..." she muttered, biting her lip hard enough to leave marks. "Maybe... ah—fuck. Fuck. Okay. You’re right."

"I’m not saying you’re wrong or crazy, Mendy," I said, my tone firm but kind. "Maybe there was someone in the house. I don’t think you’re imagining it all. Just... how about installing a camera on the front door? Catch the bastard if he comes back."

"Yeah, I already told my mother we should do that," she said, her shoulders slumping a little, the fight draining out. "She’s off talking to someone about it right now—some security guy from work."

"That’s great," I said, releasing her hands slowly, giving her space. "Call me up if anything happens, okay? Day or night. I mean it."

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EVENT

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Mendy’s Interest +2

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"Mm." She nodded, but her eyes welled up again, and she swallowed hard to hold back the tears. "Thank you, Evan. For... everything."

"No problem," I said, rubbing her shoulder one last time, feeling the tension in her muscles. "Take care of yourself, alright? Eat something, sleep if you can."

She nodded again, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Mm... okay."