Elena didn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of her bed until dawn broke, clutching the black card as if it might explain itself. Every creak of the apartment made her jump. Every gust of wind felt like footsteps outside her door. When light finally crept through her curtains, relief washed over her—thin, temporary relief.
But one truth clung stubbornly to her chest: he knew where she lived. Adrian Blackthorn, the Devil's heir, had found her. And he hadn't just threatened—he had promised.
---
Work was no easier the next day.
The café was crowded, sunlight spilling through the windows, but Elena felt no warmth in it. Her hands shook as she slid cups across the counter, and more than once, Ana caught her staring at nothing.
"You're acting like you saw a ghost," Ana teased lightly.
Elena forced a laugh. "Something like that."
But her gaze flicked to the corner, where a man in a dark suit sat with a newspaper open in front of him. She hadn't noticed him come in, but she noticed him now. His presence rippled through her like static.
She tried to convince herself it wasn't him. That she was imagining things. But when he lowered the paper, steel-gray eyes locked with hers across the café.
Adrian.
Her heart nearly stopped. He didn't smile. Didn't move. Just watched. Calm. Patient.
Elena dropped her gaze, fumbling with a napkin. Customers called out orders. Machines hissed. But she could feel his stare pinning her in place.
Finally, she glanced back.
The chair was empty. The newspaper folded neatly on the table.
He was gone.
---
That night, Mia called. Elena considered ignoring it, but she needed something—anything—normal.
"Girl, why do you sound like you're running from debt collectors?" Mia joked as soon as Elena answered.
Elena tried to laugh. It came out brittle. "I'm just tired."
"Tired? You sound like you've seen the boogeyman."
"Close," Elena muttered before she could stop herself.
"What?"
"Nothing. Forget it." She pinched the bridge of her nose, desperate to steer the conversation. "How's school?"
Mia went on about professors and group projects, her voice bubbly, grounding. But Elena's thoughts drifted, circling the same fear. He wasn't a dream. He wasn't a story whispered in late-night cafés. Adrian Blackthorn was flesh and blood, and he had chosen her.
---
Later, Elena stood at her window, staring at the street below. Rain misted the pavement. A black car sat idling by the curb, headlights faint in the drizzle.
Her stomach dropped.
It didn't move when minutes passed. Didn't honk. Didn't leave.
Her hands tightened on the curtain. "No," she whispered to herself. "It's just coincidence. Just a car."
But when she blinked, she thought she saw the outline of a figure in the driver's seat. Still. Waiting.
Elena yanked the curtains shut, heart hammering so loud it echoed in her ears.
---
The following day blurred by in a haze of nerves. She tried to convince herself she was overreacting, that paranoia was twisting shadows into monsters.
Until she stepped into the café's storage room and nearly screamed.
He was there.
Leaning against a shelf stacked with paper cups, as if he belonged. His tailored suit looked out of place among bags of coffee beans, but Adrian wore it like armor.
"Relax," he said smoothly, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "If I wanted to hurt you, Elena, I wouldn't be waiting by the sugar packets."
Her throat went dry. "What do you want from me?"
He smiled then—slow, deliberate. A predator humoring prey. "That's the wrong question. You should be asking what I'll take."
Elena backed up, her shoulders hitting the door. "Stay away."
"Stay away?" His laugh was low, dangerous. "You don't seem to understand. I don't stay away. I choose. And I've chosen you."
"Why?" The word cracked out of her, more plea than demand.
His gaze darkened. "Because you don't know what you are to me yet."
For a heartbeat, the air between them thickened. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, pinned beneath the weight of his words.
Then footsteps echoed outside the room. A co-worker calling her name.
Adrian straightened, smoothing his cuffs as if he hadn't just broken her world in two. "Until next time, little dove."
And just like that, he was gone—slipping out the back door without a sound.
Elena stood frozen, her chest tight, her hands shaking.
He was everywhere. Watching. Waiting. And no matter how hard she tried to run, Adrian Blackthorn was already inside her life.
And he wasn't leaving.