Elena swore she wasn't going to let him get into her head.
She repeated it like a mantra the next morning while she brewed coffee, while she fed Whiskers, while she tied her apron before her shift. Adrian Blackthorn was nothing but a nightmare given flesh. He was power, danger, obsession wrapped in a perfect face.
But he wasn't her reality. Not if she refused him.
She tried to believe it.
The café was busier than usual, packed with office workers and students. Elena kept her head down, pouring lattes and sliding pastries across the counter. But she felt it—the weight of someone's eyes on her.
When she dared to glance up, a man she didn't recognize was standing near the window, watching her too closely. His clothes were shabby, his posture wrong. Not a customer—he hadn't ordered anything. Just stood there, staring.
Elena's skin prickled. She looked away quickly, forcing herself to focus on work. But every time she glanced back, he was still there. Still watching.
By the time her shift ended, her nerves were shredded.
She stepped outside, hugging her coat tight, and realized too late he was following her.
Her pace quickened. So did his.
"Hey," he called, his voice low and rough. "Wait up."
Elena's heart leapt into her throat. She didn't answer, didn't look back—just turned down a busier street, hoping the crowd would shield her. But he kept coming, weaving through bodies with predatory ease.
Panic clawed at her chest. She ducked into an alley, desperate for a shortcut. Bad choice. The walls pressed close, the street noise faded, and her footsteps echoed too loud.
Behind her, the man's voice hardened. "Don't make this difficult."
Elena spun, ready to scream—
But she didn't have to.
Because Adrian was already there.
He stepped out of the shadows as if the darkness belonged to him, his suit untouched by the grime of the alley. His steel-gray eyes flicked over the stranger with cold precision.
The man froze. "I don't want trouble—"
"You found it anyway," Adrian cut in, his tone silk over steel.
Something in his voice made the man blanch. He muttered a curse, then bolted back toward the street.
Elena's knees nearly gave out in relief. But then the weight of Adrian's gaze fell on her, heavier than the threat that had chased her.
She swallowed hard. "You—why—"
"You're welcome," he said smoothly, as if she had forgotten her manners.
"I didn't ask for your help."
"No," he agreed, stepping closer. "But you needed it."
The alley felt smaller with him in it, the air thicker. Adrian's presence wasn't protection. It was possession, disguised as mercy.
Elena forced herself to hold his gaze. "You can't just keep appearing whenever you want."
His smirk deepened. "Can't I?"
Her pulse jumped. She hated how easily he twisted her fear into something else—something dangerously close to fascination.
"You're stalking me," she accused.
He leaned in, so close she could see the silver flecks in his eyes. "No, Elena. I'm claiming what's mine."
Her breath caught. "I'm not yours."
His smile sharpened, but his voice lowered to something almost tender. "Not yet."
The words burned through her, frightening and magnetic all at once.
Before she could respond, he stepped back, the shadows wrapping around him again. "Go home, little dove. Before someone else tries their luck."
And then he was gone, leaving nothing but the echo of his promise—and the terrifying truth that, for one moment, she had felt safer with him than without him.
---
That night, Elena lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Her body still hummed with adrenaline, her mind replaying the scene in the alley.
He was dangerous. Ruthless. Everything the whispers said he was.
So why did she feel more afraid of a world without him in it?