"Hello, beautiful."
The voice that came from Alexander's mouth was nothing like his own. Smoother. Softer. Like velvet wrapped around steel.
I sat frozen on the park bench, my heart hammering against my ribs. The man beside me wore Alexander's face, Alexander's navy suit, Alexander's perfectly styled hair. But everything else had changed.
His posture was different. Looser. More artistic. Where Alexander sat like a businessman and Gabriel like a soldier, this personality moved like flowing water.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
"Elliott." He smiled, and it was nothing like Ryan's predatory grin or Gabriel's sharp blade. This smile was gentle. Almost shy. "I've been waiting so long to meet you properly."
"Elliott."
"The artist. Alex mentioned me, didn't he?" Elliott tilted his head, studying my face like he was memorizing every line. "Though he probably didn't tell you the important parts."
"What important parts?"
Instead of answering, Elliott reached into Alexander's jacket pocket and pulled out a fountain pen. Expensive-looking. Old-fashioned. Not the kind of thing a businessman would carry.
"May I?" He gestured toward my purse.
I hesitated. Every instinct told me to run. But Elliott felt different from Ryan and Gabriel. Gentler. Less threatening.
I handed him a cocktail napkin from my purse.
"Thank you." His fingers brushed mine as he took it. Soft touch. Artist's hands. "You have beautiful hands, you know. Perfect proportions. Classical."
He began to draw. Quick, confident strokes. The pen moved across the napkin like it was dancing.
"Elliott, how long have you been... around?"
"Since he was twelve." Elliott didn't look up from his drawing. "After the fire."
"What fire?"
"The one that killed his parents." The pen paused for just a moment. "Alex doesn't remember it. Gabriel won't talk about it. Ryan pretends it didn't happen. But I remember everything."
A chill ran down my spine. "What do you remember?"
"The smell of smoke. The sound of screaming. The way the flames danced on the walls like living things." His voice was dreamy. Distant. "It was beautiful and terrible at the same time."
The pen moved again. Faster now. More urgent.
"That's when I was born. In that moment when Alexander's mind couldn't handle the beauty and horror of it all." Elliott looked up at me. His eyes were the same blue as Alexander's, but they held depths I hadn't seen before. "I'm the part of him that finds beauty in darkness."
"That must be lonely."
"Not anymore." He smiled that gentle smile again. "Now I have you to paint."
He finished the drawing and held it out to me.
I took the napkin and gasped.
It was me. Perfect likeness captured in just a few strokes. Every detail of my face, my hair, my dress. But the background...
The background was filled with roses. Hundreds of them. And they were all dripping with blood.
"Elliott." My voice came out strangled. "What is this?"
"The truth." He leaned closer. "You're in danger, Erica. Beautiful, terrible danger."
"From who?"
"From us." His hand touched my cheek. Gentle. Reverent. "All of us love you, but we love you in different ways. Alex wants to possess you. Gabriel wants to protect you. Ryan wants to corrupt you."
"And you?"
"I want to immortalize you." His thumb traced my lower lip. "Paint you in oils and watercolors and charcoal. Capture every expression, every emotion, every moment of your existence."
"That's not dangerous."
"Isn't it?" Elliott's eyes grew sad. "What happens to the muse when the artist becomes obsessed? When creating her becomes more important than preserving her?"
Before I could answer, his expression changed again. The gentle sadness vanished, replaced by something wilder. More intense.
"I've been painting you for months," he whispered. "Long before you knew we existed. Did you know that?"
"What?"
"Following you. Watching you. Learning the way you move, the way you think." His fingers tangled in my hair. "You're so beautiful when you're focused. When you're trying to save someone who can't be saved."
Ice spread through my veins. "You've been stalking me?"
"Studying you." Elliott pulled away slightly, but his eyes never left my face. "How else could I capture your essence? Art requires observation. Devotion. Sacrifice."
"Elliott, that's not normal behavior."
"Nothing about us is normal." He laughed softly. "But that's what makes us perfect for you, isn't it? You're drawn to broken things. Dangerous things. Things that need fixing."
He wasn't wrong. Everything about this situation screamed danger, but I couldn't make myself leave.
"The roses," I said suddenly. "The bloody roses at my office. That was you."
"Those were mine, yes." Elliott looked pleased that I'd figured it out. "Do you like roses, Erica? I paint them often. Red ones. They're so much more honest than other flowers."
"Honest how?"
"They have thorns. Beauty that can draw blood. Most people pretend flowers are all sweetness and light. But roses know better." He touched the napkin drawing. "Just like you."
"I'm not like a rose."
"Aren't you?" Elliott's smile turned knowing. "Beautiful exterior. Soft petals. But underneath, you're all thorns. You cut people open and examine their insides. Draw blood in the name of healing."
His words hit too close to truth for comfort.
"That's different. I'm trying to help."
"So am I." Elliott picked up the pen again, began sketching on another napkin. "I'm trying to show you what's coming."
"What's coming?"
"The others." His pen moved quickly across the paper. "Alex will try to buy you. Gabriel will try to cage you. Ryan will try to break you."
"And you?"
"I'll try to save you." He held up the second drawing.
This one showed me again. But I was running. Terror on my face, looking back over my shoulder at something pursuing me. And in the shadows behind me, Elliott had drawn seven pairs of eyes.
"Seven," I breathed.
"Seven parts of one broken soul." Elliott folded both napkins carefully and tucked them into my purse. "But only one of us is truly dangerous."
"Which one?"
Elliott's expression went dark. Haunted.
"The one who doesn't love you." He stood abruptly. "I have to go now. Alex is fighting for control, and if Gabriel surfaces instead..."
"Elliott, wait."
"Be careful, Erica." He backed away from the bench. "The paintings don't lie. What I see always comes true."
"What do you see?"
"Blood." His voice was fading, becoming more like Alexander's again. "So much blood."
He blinked hard, shook his head. When he looked at me again, confusion clouded his features.
"Erica?" Alexander's voice. Alexander's confused expression. "What happened? Why are we in the park?"
I stared at him. No trace of Elliott remained. It was like watching someone wake up from a dream they couldn't remember.
"We were walking," I said carefully. "After dinner."
"Right." Alexander rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry. I must have... lost time again."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not." He sat back down beside me, but kept careful distance. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. That I'd embarrass myself. Embarrass you."
"You didn't embarrass me."
"Didn't I?" Alexander looked at me with those blue eyes that had been Elliott's just moments before. "I can see it in your face. Something happened. Something I can't remember."
"Alexander—"
"This is why I can't have normal relationships." He stood again, started pacing. "This is why I've spent my life alone. How can I be with someone when I never know which version of me is going to show up?"
"Maybe that's not the right question."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the question isn't which version of you will show up. Maybe it's whether someone can love all the versions."
Alexander stopped pacing. Stared at me.
"Is that possible? To love someone that fractured?"
"I don't know." The honest answer. "But I'd like to find out."
Something shifted in his expression. Hope, maybe. Or desperation.
"Erica, I need to tell you something."
"What?"
"I'm falling in love with you." The words tumbled out like he'd been holding them back for days. "I know it's crazy. I know it's too fast. I know I'm probably the worst possible man for you to care about. But I can't help it."
My heart stopped. Started again. Hammered against my ribs.
"Alexander..."
"You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know. In case something happens. In case one of the others does something that drives you away."
"What could they do?"
Alexander's expression went dark. "Things I hope you never have to find out."
Before I could ask what that meant, my phone buzzed. Text message.
I pulled it out of my purse, glanced at the screen.
The message was from an unknown number. Just two words:
Too late.
Attached was a photo. A painting. Me, sleeping in my bed. Painted in exquisite detail from the perspective of someone standing beside my nightstand.
Elliott had been in my apartment. In my bedroom. Watching me sleep.
I showed Alexander the phone.
His face went white. "Oh god."
"Alexander, we need to call the police."
"No." He grabbed my hand. "You don't understand. Police can't help with this. Can't help with us."
"Then what do we do?"
"Run." His grip tightened. "You run, and you don't look back."
But even as he said it, I knew it was too late.
Because the man looking at me with Alexander's face wasn't Alexander anymore. The eyes had gone cold. Calculating. Predatory.
And when he smiled, it was with teeth that looked sharp enough to draw blood.
"Hello, beautiful," he said in a voice I didn't recognize. "Time to go home."