Damon’s POV

  After calling Selena, I should have gone straight to her club. Should have. But my mind was elsewhere—fixated on her.

  I wanted to see her fear, her trembling form, her innocence. wanted to watch her shiver under my gaze, knowing she had witnessed something she shouldn’t have.

  So I followed her to the café.

  This time, without my mask, without my coat. Just a plain white t-shirt and black pants—a casual disguise for the devil himself.

  The night air was crisp, the scent of coffee and sugar lingering—warm, inviting. But beneath it, something else.

  Her.

  I stepped inside, and she felt me.

  She didn’t look up. Didn’t see me.

  But she felt me.

  The tremor in her fingers as she fumbled with a ribbon, the way her breath hitched, the way her back straightened—an instinctive reaction to something dark brushing against her skin.

  Not recognition. Not yet.

  But she remembered the night. The fear. The unseen presence that had wrapped around her like a phantom in the dark.

  She just didn’t realize it had been me.

  Not yet.

  But soon.

  And then—him.

  She turned—and ran straight into his arms.

  Something inside me cracked.

  She clung to him, gripping his shirt like an anchor. Like he was something solid. Like he was hers.

  My jaw clenched, muscles coiling as a slow, venomous rage seeped into my veins.

  She thought she could run to another man. That he could protect her.

  That he was her safety.

  Her home.

  I forced my hands to stay at my sides, fingers curling into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. Control.

  She was trembling, and for a moment, I let myself believe—

  That it was because of me.

  That my touch still haunted her skin. That I still lingered in the corners of her mind, in the shudder of her breath.

  But then—he cupped her face.

  Close. Intimate. His voice a murmur, something meant only for her.

  Close enough to kiss her.

  And she let him.

  A slow, deep heat burned in my chest.

  Not fire. Not rage.

  Something darker. More poisonous.

  Jealousy.

  I had never known jealousy before—not the kind that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

  Not the kind that made my fingers twitch with the need to rip her away from him.

  Not the kind that made me crave destruction.

  I moved forward. Controlled. Measured. Deliberate.

  She didn’t notice me at first. But the moment she did—everything changed.

  Her breath stilled. Her pupils dilated.

  She didn’t know why.

  She didn’t know who I was.

  But she felt me.

  That invisible thread that had always bound us—tightening.

  And then—him.

  He turned, his grip on her shifting, subtle but protective.

  He felt it too.

  Not like she did. Not the dark, inescapable pull of what I was to her.

  But something wrong.

  A tension thickening the air. A predator stepping too close.

  His fingers curled into fists. A silent barrier. A warning.

  Pathetic.

  I stepped toward the counter, a slow smirk tugging at my lips.

  That bastard came forward, forcing a polite expression. “What can I get for you?”

  I didn’t want him to take my order. I didn’t want him near me.

  But I wouldn’t let my rage show.

  “Hot coffee.” My voice was smooth. Unbothered.

  A lie.

  His gaze sharpened, wary.

  Good.

  I wanted him to feel it.

  The slow-burning hatred. The quiet, inevitable truth.

  He would see it now.

  Or he would see it when I tore her away from him.

  Either way—he would see.

  And no matter where she ran, no matter who she turned to—

  I would find her.

  She was pretending.

  Pretending she didn’t see me. Pretending she didn’t feel me.

  But I saw the way her hands trembled, how she fumbled with the ribbons, her fingers clumsy where they should have been deft.

  She was unraveling.

  And I wanted her to.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She turned, just slightly—just enough to steal a glance.

  Our eyes met.

  A jolt. A silent gasp caught between us.

  She didn’t understand it yet, didn’t know why she felt this way.

  But I did.

  Her pupils dilated, her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

  And then—she whipped back around.

  Running. Hiding.

  It didn’t matter.

  She could turn her back, bury her fear, pretend this moment never happened.

  But she had already given herself away.

  Her body knew before her mind did.

  A moment later, the bastard placed my coffee on the counter. "Here you go."

  Him

  She ran to him. Clung to him. Looked at him like he was the answer to her fear.

  Pathetic.

  I dragged my gaze to him—slowly. Deliberately.

  And when my eyes met his, I let him see it.

  Not just a threat. Not just a warning.

  A promise.

  He didn’t notice. Too fucking oblivious.

  But she did.

  I felt her watching, stiffening as I wrapped my fingers around the cup. Too tight. The ceramic burned my palm, but I barely noticed.

  Then—she reached forward, her fingers outstretched, offering the bill.

  I let it happen.

  I let the back of my hand brush against hers, let my fingertips graze her skin.

  Cold.

  She sucked in a breath, a soft, barely audible sound.

  But I heard it.

  I felt it.

  Her skin was warm, so warm, and I was cold, so much colder.

  A contradiction. A battle neither of us had chosen, yet one I was determined to win.

  Her breath shuddered.

  And then—I leaned in.

  Close. Just enough for my breath to touch her skin.

  She was frozen. Trapped.

  Good.

  I let my voice drop to a whisper, smooth and low, threading through the space between us.

  "You look beautiful in this outfit."

  Not a compliment.

  A claim.

  Possession woven into each syllable, dark and inescapable.

  Knew it in the way her throat went tight, in the way her fingers curled inward, in the way she couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe.

  I stepped back. Took my coffee.

  And walked away.

  But it wasn’t over.

  It would never be over.

  Because the moment she stepped outside, the moment she thought she could escape—

  She felt me again.

  That weight. That suffocating, inescapable pull.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Because she could run.

  She could run straight into his arms, into anyone’s arms.

  But in the end—

  She would still be mine.

  She would realize it soon enough.

  I followed her home. Not too close—just enough to let her feel it.

  The air shifted around her. The night thickened, tightening its grip, wrapping her in a shroud of unseen terror.

  Her steps faltered. She turned her head, searching the shadows, searching for me.

  She knew.

  Not who. Not yet. But she felt me.

  Like a whisper at the nape of her neck. Like fingers gliding over her skin without ever touching her.

  Her hands clenched around her bag. Her breath hitched.

  Foolishly, she hurried, as if that would save her. As if a locked door, a sliding chain, and closed windows could ever keep me out.

  Sweetheart, I have my ways.

  The lights in her house flickered off. The world inside went still.

  I waited.

  Waited until exhaustion stole her defenses. Until sleep wrapped its delicate chains around her limbs and left her vulnerable.

  Then, I moved.

  Silent. Unseen.

  I was inside before she even stirred.

  Her room was small, warm—a sanctuary.

  So unlike mine.

  Mine was cold. Empty. Lifeless.

  And there she was.

  Fast asleep. Her dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips parted in a breathless sigh. Strands of hair tumbled over her pillow, a tangle of black silk. Books lay scattered around her, their pages open, like she had fought against sleep and lost.

  She looked peaceful.

  So unbearably, infuriatingly mine.

  I knelt beside her bed. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, close enough to let my breath mingle with hers.

  The scent of cinnamon and chocolate clung to her. Sweet. Addictive. It made my blood hum with the need to consume her whole.

  My fingers twitched. My body burned.

  I could take her now. Mark her. Break her. Ruin her.

  But no.

  I leaned in, my lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, letting my breath dance over her skin in a whisper of possession.

  "I will have you slowly, my love."

  She stirred, lashes trembling.

  A sigh. A fleeting frown. A shift of her delicate fingers against the sheets.

  But she didn’t wake.

  I vanished before dawn, leaving nothing behind but the weight of my presence.

  I couldn't stop thinking about her.

  Her scent. Her warmth. The way she tensed in my presence, even when she didn’t understand why.

  It wasn’t enough.

  I needed more.

  I made sure I would never miss a moment.

  Cameras.

  Small. Hidden. Everywhere.

  I watched her through my third eye—unseen, unknown—while she moved through her life, oblivious to me.

  Unaware that I watched her while she brewed her morning coffee, while she curled up in the tiny living room with a book, her brows furrowing in concentration.

  But I saw something else, too.

  The way her body tensed when the wind howled outside. The way her fingers trembled when she locked her doors at night.

  She was scared for me ,the murderer

  I loved it.

  Her fear.

  A fear that belonged to me.

  While she was gone—off to her classes, drowning in textbooks, working late shifts to survive—my men worked.

  Placing cameras.

  Everywhere.

  Her bedroom. Her bathroom. Every inch of her world now belonged to me.

  And that night, when I watched her, my control snapped.

  She came home exhausted. Tossed her bag aside. Ran a hand through her hair.

  And walked straight into her room.

  She didn’t know.

  She had no idea that I was right there.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  And then—she undressed.

  Slow. Unintentional. Each piece of clothing fell away, revealing the untouched canvas of her body.

  Perfection.

  My fingers curled into fists.

  Her back arched as she stretched, muscles taut from the weight of her day. The faintest sigh slipped from her lips.

  The kind of sound I wanted to tear from her throat over and over again—until she had no voice left except my name.

  She stepped into the shower.

  And I lost myself.

  The water cascaded over her, tracing paths down her body that should have been mine to follow.

  My jaw clenched.

  I should be there.

  I should be touching her.

  Making her shudder. Making her tremble. Making her break.

  Not the water.

  Not her own hands.

  Me.

  By the time she stepped out, steam curling around her like a ghostly embrace, my restraint was fraying.

  Thin. Dangerously thin.

  I needed a distraction.

  Now.

  A knock at my study door.

  "Hello, Damon."

  Selena.

  Perfect.

  I yanked her inside.

  Crushed my mouth against hers.

  Hard. Desperate. Empty.

  She gasped. Tangled her fingers in my hair. Moaned when I lifted her onto my desk, nails scraping down my back.

  I didn’t care.

  I needed to erase this feeling.

  To forget the girl who haunted me.

  So I drowned myself in the only relief I knew.

  Teeth. Nails. A brutal, mindless blur of bodies colliding in the dark.

  But even as I took, I wasn’t there.

  Selena moaned beneath me, but in the haze of heat, of tangled limbs and gasping breaths—

  I saw her.

  Alina.

  My hands softened.

  My lips slowed.

  For the first time, I wasn’t just taking.

  I was giving.

  Selena’s breath hitched. Her fingers traced my face, something unreadable in her gaze.

  "This is the first time you were this gentle," she whispered. "I almost felt… love in it."

  I went still.

  Love?

  No.

  I didn’t love.

  I consumed.

  I destroyed.

  And she will be no exception

  Damon’s POV

  The engine hummed beneath my fingers as I drummed against the leather steering wheel, my gaze fixed on the dimly lit café. The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with the distant aroma of coffee and something sweeter.

  Her.

  Even now, I could still feel the ghost of her warmth against my fingertips, the delicate tremor that had coursed through her when I’d held her still. She had been frozen beneath my touch, her soft lips parted, her breath shallow.

  Terrified. But not just that.

  There had been something else beneath the fear—an innocence, a fragility that made me want to shatter her just to see how she would break.

  A muscle ticked in my jaw.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I should’ve ended this already. Should’ve let Adrion clean up the mess, tie up loose ends. That’s what I always did. No witnesses. No exceptions.

  And yet… I had let her go.

  I exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headrest. The logical part of me knew what needed to be done. But logic didn’t explain the way her black eyes had met mine, wide and uncertain, or why the sound of her gasping my name in fear still echoed in my mind.

  I wanted her gone.

  But I also wanted—

  My fingers curled into a fist. No.

  This wasn’t about desire. It couldn’t be.

  I needed to make sure she stayed silent. That was all.

  That was the only reason I was still here, watching the café window, waiting.

  And yet, when I finally saw her—standing behind the counter, her dark hair falling in soft waves, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she tied a ribbon around a cupcake box—I felt something coil low in my stomach.

  A slow smirk tugged at my lips.

  Mia tesoro. My treasure.

  She didn’t know it yet, but she was already mine.

  Alina’s POV

  The soft chime of the café door sliced through the low murmur of customers, a sharp contrast that sent a shudder racing down my spine.

  I flinched.

  My hands trembled violently as I struggled to tie the last ribbon on the order. My fingers felt useless—clumsy, weak, foreign. Focus. I needed to focus.

  But I couldn’t. My mind was a storm of jagged images, looping over and over again.

  The alley. The sickening scent of blood thick in the air. The gurgled last breath of the man sprawled on the pavement. The glint of the knife catching the light. And him—the one who saw me. The one who looked right into me, through me, as if he already owned me.

  I swallowed against the growing tightness in my throat. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs, each beat a desperate attempt to claw its way out of my chest. I hadn’t stopped shaking since that moment, and now the café felt suffocatingly bright, the air too thick to pull in.

  The door opened again. A gust of cold wind coiled around me, slithering up my spine like an unwelcome whisper.

  The sensation was immediate—an invisible vice tightening around my throat.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  My hands refused to obey me. The ribbon slipped through my fingers again, the silky fabric taunting me as it fell to the counter.

  "Damn it," I whispered hoarsely.

  "Angel?"

  The voice was familiar—warm, steady. A lifeline.

  Kevin.

  I looked up, and the second my eyes met his, something inside me cracked wide open.

  Before I could think, I dropped everything and rushed into his arms.

  The moment he wrapped me in his embrace, the world tilted back into something that felt almost stable. His warmth, the solid weight of his presence—everything about him grounded me, tethered me to reality.

  "Alina." His voice was gentle, firm. "What’s wrong?"

  I opened my mouth, but the words refused to come.

  If I spoke, if I admitted it aloud, I would break.

  Kevin pulled back slightly, just enough to cup my face, his brows furrowed in concern. "Talk to me."

  The door chimed again.

  A cold shiver sliced through me. The air shifted.

  I stiffened.

  And then… I felt it.

  A presence. Dark. Smothering. Inescapable.

  Slowly, hesitantly, I turned toward the entrance.

  My breath stalled in my throat.

  A man stood just inside the doorway. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His features were shadowed by the dim café lights, but his sharp brown eyes were locked onto me. Not just looking—watching. Studying.

  The weight of his stare pressed against my skin, like unseen fingers trailing over my throat, squeezing, testing, toying with the idea of taking my air away.

  I couldn’t move.

  He took a slow step forward, deliberate in his movements, almost lazy. But there was nothing casual about it. It was calculated. Measured. The way a predator moves when it knows its prey has nowhere to run.

  "This café is open, right?"

  His voice was smooth, unbothered. But beneath it, there was something else. Something dark. Amused.

  My tongue felt heavy, useless. "Y-yes."

  His lips curled slightly, as if my fear was something he found… entertaining.

  Kevin stepped in front of me before I could even process what was happening, his body a shield between me and the stranger.

  "What can I get you?" Kevin’s tone was firm, polite—but laced with quiet warning.

  The man didn’t even glance at him.

  His eyes remained on me.

  "Hot coffee," he murmured.

  Even when Kevin turned to prepare the drink, I could still feel him watching me. His gaze was relentless, an iron grip on my senses, suffocating and unyielding.

  My hands shook as I returned to packing the order, moving slower than before, my fingers sluggish, uncoordinated. Each ribbon I tied felt like it took an eternity. My breaths came short, shallow.

  I turned slightly—just enough to steal a glance.

  Our eyes met.

  My heart slammed into my ribs. Hard.

  Something inside me recoiled, screaming in warning, but I couldn’t look away. There was something eerily familiar about him—like a nightmare resurfacing from the depths of my mind. A nightmare I couldn’t quite place.

  I whipped back around, pulse thundering in my ears.

  A moment later, Kevin placed the cup on the counter. "Here you go."

  The man finally looked at him.

  And then I saw it.

  The shift.

  His amusement vanished, replaced by something cold. Dark.

  Hatred.

  A quiet, burning hatred flickering behind his eyes, swallowing up any trace of the smirk he once wore.

  Kevin didn’t seem to notice—at first. But then… he stiffened.

  I saw it in the way his muscles locked, the slight narrowing of his eyes. His gaze flickered between me and the man, his jaw clenching, as if sensing something unspoken passing between us.

  The man’s fingers curled around the cup, his grip a little too tight. Then, as I reached to hand him the bill, his fingers brushed against mine.

  Cold.

  Not just cold. Freezing. Like ice seeping into my bones.

  I gasped softly—barely audible. But he noticed.

  And his smirk returned, slow and knowing.

  Kevin’s hand tensed on the counter. He saw it. He saw the way my entire body went rigid, how my breath hitched in my throat. His brows knitted together, his gaze sharpening with suspicion.

  The man leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over my skin, a whisper of something possessive and dark.

  "You look beautiful in this outfit."

  Kevin’s fingers curled into a fist. His stance shifted—protective, brimming with silent fury.

  The words shouldn’t have meant anything.

  But the way he said them…

  They weren’t a compliment.

  They were a promise.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Kevin noticed.

  His eyes locked onto mine, reading the terror written all over my face, the tension thrumming between me and t

  his stranger. His entire body coiled tight, as if preparing for something.

  The man took his coffee and walked away, but even as the door swung shut behind him, I knew—

  This wasn’t over.

  Because when Kevin and I finally stepped outside, I felt it again.

  That same suffocating weight.

  Someone was watching me.