Elena barely remembered the rest of her shift. She moved on autopilot—smiling when needed, ringing up orders, wiping counters—but her mind wasn't in the café. It was in the storage room. On his voice. On the way Adrian Blackthorn said her name as if he owned it.
She closed that night, locking the doors with hands that shook so hard she fumbled the keys twice. When she finally stepped outside, the city had grown quiet, wrapped in a thin fog that blurred the streetlights.
Her phone buzzed.
Mia: Sleepover at my place this weekend? You need a break.
Elena wanted to type yes. She wanted to run, even just for a night. But she hesitated. If Adrian could find her at her apartment, he could find her anywhere. Running wouldn't change that.
Her fingers hovered, then dropped the phone back into her bag.
---
She hadn't walked far when she noticed it—the sound of another pair of footsteps echoing behind her. Slow. Measured.
Her pulse jumped.
Elena quickened her pace. The footsteps did the same.
She ducked into a narrow street, hoping to shake whoever it was. The fog pressed closer, damp against her skin, muting the world. She risked a glance over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Relief fluttered—then died as a figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of her.
Adrian.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Following women home now?" she snapped, though her voice trembled.
His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a warning. "If I wanted to follow, you wouldn't hear me. You'd never know."
She hated the shiver that ran down her spine. "Then what do you call this?"
"I call it ensuring you don't make the mistake of running again." His tone was calm, casual, but the weight behind it pressed against her like iron.
Elena crossed her arms to hide the shake in them. "You don't get to decide where I go."
Adrian's gaze lingered on her face, then dropped—slowly, deliberately—before meeting her eyes again. "Don't I?"
The silence stretched, thick and unbearable.
Finally, Elena forced herself to speak. "Why me? Out of all the people in this city, why are you wasting your time on me?"
Something flickered across his expression—too brief to name. He stepped closer, and though every instinct screamed at her to back away, her feet rooted to the ground.
"You don't know yet," he said softly. "But you will."
Her throat tightened. "If you think I'm just going to let you—"
"You don't let me, Elena." His voice sharpened, his presence swallowing the narrow street. "That's not how this works."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. She hated him. She feared him. But some dangerous, unspoken part of her was drawn to the gravity of him, like a moth circling flame.
Adrian reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. The touch was barely there, but it sent sparks racing through her nerves.
"Careful, little dove," he murmured. "You're trembling."
Elena jerked back, heat flooding her face. "Don't touch me."
His smirk returned, sharper now. "Don't tempt me."
And with that, he stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved. The fog swallowed him as easily as it had revealed him, until he was gone.
---
Elena stood frozen, her body still humming with adrenaline. She should feel safe now that he'd left. She should breathe easier. But all she felt was the echo of his presence, clinging to her like a mark she couldn't wash away.
By the time she reached her apartment, her hands were so unsteady she dropped her keys twice. She slammed the door behind her, locked it, then slid to the floor with her back pressed to the wood.
Her phone buzzed again.
Mia: El? You there?
Elena stared at the glowing screen, then typed with fingers that shook:
Yeah. I'm here.
It was the truth. But not the whole truth.
Because even alone in her locked apartment, she could still feel him.
Watching. Waiting.
The Devil's heir had left his shadow on her—and she knew he wasn't finished.
Not even close.