CHAPTER ONE
"
Rosy always felt watched.
Not by something supernatural…
but by something far more dangerous:
A man.
The kind whose presence you felt before you ever saw his face.
The kind who didn't belong to the light.
The kind she knew she should fear—
yet couldn't stop imagining.
Tonight, she felt it again.
The street was empty as she walked home from her late shift, rain dripping from the edges of her coat. The air was cold, but the shiver crawling down her spine wasn't.
Halfway down the street, she stopped.
"Who's there?" she called, breath unsteady.
Footsteps didn't answer.
But a voice did.
"Keep walking, Rosy."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He stepped out of the shadows—
a tall figure in a black coat, soaked from the rain, eyes sharp enough to slice through the dark.
Michael.
She didn't know his last name.
She didn't know where he came from.
She didn't know why he appeared only at night.
All she knew was this:
He always found her.
He always watched her.
And he had saved her once—
from a man who hadn't survived the encounter.
She should have run from him then.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
"Michael… why are you here?" she whispered.
He approached slowly, like a predator giving its prey time to understand what was happening. Rain traced the angles of his face, dripping from his jaw.
"You were almost followed," he said.
"I handled it."
Her pulse stuttered. "Handled… how?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The metallic scent of blood carried on the wind.
Rosy took a step back.
Michael took a step closer.
"Don't be afraid of me," he said quietly, eyes softening. "I would never hurt you."
His voice was gentle—
but his hands were still stained red.
"How do you even know who I am?" she whispered.
Michael's jaw tightened.
He looked at her like she was the only real thing in a world full of ghosts.
"I've known you longer than you think, Rosy."
She swallowed hard.
"Why me?"
He raised a hand and brushed a raindrop from her cheek, his touch freezing her in place.
"Because," he said, voice low and dark, "you're the one thing I can't walk away from."
Her breath caught.
"And I've tried."
Thunder cracked overhead.
Michael stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of him even through the cold storm.
"Go home, Rosy," he murmured.
"I'm not done with tonight's work."
She didn't dare ask what that meant.
She only watched him walk back into the darkness—
and disappear, like he was made of it.
Rosy touched the place on her cheek where his fingers had lingered.
She should have been terrified.
But instead…
She wanted more.