Elena woke with a start, her chest heaving as if she had been running. The pale morning light sliced across her room, weak but relentless, pushing the night's shadows back into corners. For one blissful moment, she almost convinced herself it had all been a dream—the storm, the car, the man who knew her name.
Then Whiskers, her ginger tabby, pawed insistently at her arm. Elena groaned and dragged herself upright. The apartment looked the same as always—tiny, cluttered, safe. Yet nothing felt normal. She moved through the motions: food in the cat's bowl, coffee poured too strong, one scalding sip to jolt her awake. Pretend everything was fine. Pretend she wasn't shaking inside.
Her trembling hands gave her away.
---
The café was already buzzing when she arrived for her shift. The espresso machine hissed, cups clattered, laughter rippled through the room. Normally the familiar noise soothed her. Today, it felt too loud, like the world was conspiring to expose her.
"Elena, you okay?" Ana, the other barista, shot her a glance while sliding muffins into the display.
"I'm fine," Elena said too quickly.
But the café had ears, and whispers drifted close enough to catch.
"Someone swore they saw the Devil's heir last night," a boy muttered to his friend at the corner table.
Elena's stomach dropped.
"Don't be stupid," his friend scoffed. "People say that every week. Urban legend."
"No, I'm serious. They said his car stopped for someone. Like he was waiting."
Elena bent her head, pouring coffee into a mug with deliberate calm. Not me. It wasn't me. But the lie echoed hollowly inside her.
The rest of the shift crawled by. She forced smiles, made lattes, nodded at small talk—but inside she was unraveling.
---
By the time she clocked out, dusk was bleeding across the sky. The storm had passed, but the city still smelled faintly of rain. Elena tugged her coat tight and hurried into the chilly air, her mind restless.
Her phone buzzed.
Mia: El, people online swear the heir's car was spotted in your neighborhood. Tell me you're safe.
Elena chewed her lip, thumbs hesitating before she typed:
I'm fine. Promise. Stop worrying.
She hit send. But even in the glow of the screen, the words felt fragile.
Her boots clicked against pavement as she walked. Every shadow stretched too long. Every passing car seemed to slow just enough to watch her. She told herself it was paranoia. Just paranoia.
Then she reached her apartment building—and froze.
The front door hung ajar, propped open with a brick. She had locked it that morning. She knew she had.
Her stomach tightened as she stepped inside. The hallway smelled faintly of smoke, though none of her neighbors smoked. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she climbed the stairs.
At the top, she stopped dead.
A single envelope lay on the floor outside her apartment door.
White. Crisp. Her name written across it in elegant black script.
Her breath stuttered. She bent down, fingers trembling, and tore it open. Inside was a sleek black card, heavy and smooth. Embossed in silver was only one name:
Adrian Blackthorn.
The letters glinted like a threat.
Her pulse thundered as she stumbled back.
And then—
"Did you really think I wouldn't find you?"
The voice slid across the hallway, smooth and unhurried.
Elena spun, her back hitting the door.
He was there.
Leaning casually against the wall, dressed in black that looked carved to fit him. Every line of his body radiated control. His steel-gray eyes locked on hers, calm and merciless, as though peeling back her defenses layer by layer.
Adrian Blackthorn. The Devil's heir.
Her nightmare—real, breathing, impossibly close.
Elena's lips parted, but no words came.
He tilted his head, studying her. "You run fast. I'll give you that. But you should know…" His voice lowered, dangerous silk. "…no one outruns me."
"I don't know what you want," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. "Oh, Elena. You know exactly what I want."
He stepped closer. Not rushing, not threatening—just moving with the certainty of someone who never needed to chase. The air between them seemed to thicken, pressing in on her chest until she could hardly breathe.
"Stay away from me," she forced out, though her voice cracked.
For the first time, his expression softened—mockingly, as if her defiance amused him. He leaned in, his breath warm near her ear.
"If I intended to stay away, little dove," he murmured, "I wouldn't be here."
Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might burst. She should run. Scream. Something. But her body betrayed her, frozen under the weight of his gaze.
Adrian straightened, eyes glinting in the dim hallway light. "Consider this a courtesy visit," he said. "Next time, I won't knock."
He turned, walking away as though he owned the ground beneath his feet. His footsteps echoed, fading into silence.
Elena pressed her back against the door, clutching the card like it might burn her skin.
The Devil's heir had found her.
And he wasn't leaving.