The rain in Seattle never stopped, but tonight it felt different. Heavier. Like the sky was trying to wash away something that shouldn't exist.
I pulled my black Honda deeper into the shadows behind the abandoned shipping container, cutting the engine and headlights in one swift motion. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched the white delivery truck with "Cullen Corporation" painted on its side roll through the rusted gates of Pier 47. The digital clock on my dashboard glowed 2:03 AM in harsh green numbers.
Three months. Three months I'd been chasing this story, following paper trails that led nowhere and witnesses who suddenly developed amnesia. But tonight was different. Tonight I had proof.
Well, I would have proof if I could actually see what was happening.
I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat, fingers already slick with nervous sweat. The screen lit up as I opened the camera app, zooming in on the truck that had stopped about fifty yards away. Through the viewfinder, I watched two figures climb out of the cab. One was obviously the driver—short, stocky, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face. The other...
Even in the dim glow of the industrial lighting, I recognized that silhouette. Edward Cullen. CEO of Cullen Corporation, Seattle's golden boy of biotech innovation, and the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in person. Not that I'd admit that to anyone, especially not after spending the last quarter of the year trying to prove he was involved in something illegal.
"What are you doing here at two in the morning, pretty boy?" I whispered to myself, adjusting the zoom.
Edward moved with the kind of confidence that came from owning everything around you. His expensive black coat flapped in the wind as he walked to the back of the truck, and even from this distance, I could see the way his bronze hair caught the light. He looked like he'd stepped off the cover of Fortune magazine, not like someone conducting shady business deals in abandoned warehouses.
The driver opened the truck's rear doors, and my breath caught in my throat.
There was someone inside. A man, bound and gagged, struggling against ropes that tied him to a metal chair. His muffled screams carried across the water, mixing with the sound of waves lapping against the dock pilings.
"Holy shit," I breathed, my finger already hitting the record button. "Finally."
This was it. This was the break I'd been waiting for. Whatever Edward Cullen was really doing with his company, whatever those missing persons reports and mysterious disappearances were about, I was about to get it all on camera.
The bound man's head whipped back and forth as Edward approached him. Even tied up and terrified, the guy looked familiar. Where had I seen him before? My mind raced through faces from the dozens of interviews I'd conducted, the photographs I'd studied, the...
Marcus Webb. That was his name. Former Cullen Corporation employee who'd tried to blow the whistle on some kind of illegal experiments before disappearing six weeks ago. His wife had hired me to find him.
Edward crouched down in front of Marcus, saying something I couldn't hear. His posture was casual, almost gentle, like he was having a friendly conversation. Marcus stopped struggling for a moment, hope flickering across his features.
Then Edward smiled.
I've seen a lot of smiles in my line of work. Fake ones from politicians, nervous ones from witnesses, predatory ones from men who thought a woman asking questions was easy prey. But I'd never seen anything like this.
Edward's smile was... wrong. Too wide. Too many teeth. And when the industrial light hit his face just right, those teeth looked sharp. Really sharp.
"What the hell?" I muttered, fumbling with my phone's focus.
Marcus started screaming again behind the gag, thrashing with renewed terror. Edward's head tilted to one side, like he was listening to music only he could hear. Then, without any warning at all, he grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and lifted him clean out of the chair.
The ropes snapped like thread.
I'd seen Edward Cullen in person exactly three times before tonight. Once at a press conference, once leaving his downtown office building, and once at a charity gala where I'd tried and failed to get an interview. Each time, I'd been struck by how... normal he seemed. Wealthy, obviously. Gorgeous, definitely. But normal. Human.
Humans don't lift two-hundred-pound men over their heads like they're made of paper.
Edward held Marcus in the air for a long moment, and I could see the bound man's legs kicking uselessly three feet off the ground. Then Edward said something else—his lips moved, but I couldn't make out the words—and Marcus went completely still.
I held my breath, waiting for Edward to put him down. To untie him. To do something that would make sense of what I was watching.
Instead, Edward's hands moved to Marcus's throat.
And then he ripped it out.
Blood erupted everywhere. Across Edward's face, his expensive coat, the concrete beneath them. It splattered against the side of the truck and painted the industrial lighting in wet, dark streaks. Marcus's body convulsed once, twice, then went limp in Edward's grasp.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what I was seeing.
Edward dropped the body and stepped back, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked down at Marcus's corpse with the same expression most people reserved for checking their watch. Mild interest. Nothing more.
The most terrifying part wasn't the killing. It was how normal Edward looked while doing it.
I fumbled with my phone, checking the recording. The video was rolling, capturing everything in high definition. Finally, finally I had proof that Edward Cullen was—
The screen went black.
"No, no, no," I whispered, tapping frantically at the display. The phone was working fine—I could see the time, the battery level, the signal bars. But the camera showed nothing but static where there should have been the most important footage of my career.
I tried switching to photo mode. Black screen. Tried the flashlight function. Nothing. It was like the camera had simply stopped working the moment Edward started killing.
That's when I heard the footsteps.
Slow, measured steps on wet concrete, getting closer to my hiding spot. I peered around the shipping container and felt my blood turn to ice.
Edward was walking toward me.
Not running. Not even hurrying. Just walking with that same casual confidence he'd shown at press conferences, like he was strolling through his office building instead of crossing a murder scene. But there was something different about the way he moved now. Something predatory.
More importantly, he was looking right at my hiding spot.
"Shit, shit, shit," I breathed, ducking back behind the container. How had he seen me? I was fifty yards away in complete darkness. No way he could have—
A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
I found myself staring into Edward Cullen's face from less than two feet away. Up close, I could see the blood spattered across his cheek, the way his bronze hair stuck to his forehead, the perfect cut of his expensive suit jacket.
But most of all, I could see his eyes.
They weren't the warm amber I remembered from the newspaper photos. They were gold. Bright, burning gold that seemed to glow with their own light. And they were looking at me like I was the most interesting thing he'd encountered in years.
"Miss Chen," he said, and his voice was exactly what I remembered from the press conferences. Smooth, cultured, with just a hint of an accent I'd never been able to place. "I believe you've seen something you shouldn't have."
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. How did he know my name? How had he moved so fast? How were his eyes doing that impossible glowing thing?
Edward smiled, and this time I could see those too-sharp teeth clearly.
"Run," he said softly.
I didn't need to be told twice.
I bolted past him, stumbling over my own feet in my panic to get away. Behind me, I heard something that might have been laughter. Low, amused, like this was all some kind of game to him.
My car was only twenty yards away, but it felt like twenty miles. Every step seemed to take forever, and I kept expecting to feel those impossibly strong hands grabbing me from behind. I fumbled for my keys, dropped them, snatched them up again, and somehow managed to unlock the Honda on the third try.
I threw myself into the driver's seat and slammed the door, immediately hitting the lock button. My hands were shaking so badly it took three attempts to get the key into the ignition. The engine turned over with a blessed roar, and I threw the car into reverse without even checking my mirrors.
The Honda shot backward, tires squealing against the wet asphalt. I cranked the wheel hard, swinging around in a wild turn that sent me sliding sideways across the parking lot. Through the passenger window, I caught a glimpse of Edward standing exactly where I'd left him.
He wasn't chasing me. Wasn't even following. He just stood there in the rain, watching me with those impossible golden eyes, that slight smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.
Like he knew something I didn't.
I floored the accelerator and tore out of the parking lot, not bothering to turn on my headlights until I was back on the main road. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. Every shadow looked like a threat. Every other car on the road might contain those golden eyes.
But as I checked my mirrors obsessively during the drive home, the road behind me stayed empty.
By the time I pulled into my apartment building's parking garage, my hands had almost stopped shaking. I sat in the car for another ten minutes, staring at my phone. The video file was there—forty-three minutes of recording—but when I tried to play it back, all I got was black screen and ambient audio.
Nothing else.
"This is impossible," I said to the empty car. "I saw what I saw."
But without proof, who would believe me? Edward Cullen, ripping a man's throat out with his hands? Edward Cullen, whose eyes glowed gold in the dark? Edward Cullen, who could move faster than anything human and somehow knew my name?
I'd sound insane.
I gathered my purse and headed for the elevator, trying to convince myself that everything would make sense in the morning. That there had to be a logical explanation for what I'd witnessed. That Edward Cullen was just a very dangerous, very well-connected man who knew how to cover his tracks.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the sixth floor. I stepped out into the hallway, fishing for my keys, and tried not to think about those golden eyes or that knowing smile.
I especially tried not to think about the way he'd said my name, like he'd been expecting me.
Like he'd known I would be there.
End of Chapter 1