Chapter Four : The name in the News
1141 Words
Fernanda didn’t sleep.
She sat on the couch for hours after he left, knees drawn up, staring at the door like he might walk back in at any second.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—tall, broad, smelling like heat and danger, his gaze locked on her like he’d already made up his mind.
She told herself she was angry.
She told herself she was afraid.
She didn’t tell herself the truth—that part of her had leaned into the wall when he crowded her space, just to see if he’d close it.
The sun crept through her blinds before she finally dragged herself to the kitchen. She made coffee, clinging to the bitter scent like it could burn away the memory of him.
She was halfway through her first mug when her phone lit up with a news alert.
At first, she almost ignored it—until the name hit her like a blow.
“Pureblood Alpha Returns to City After Ten Years Abroad — Ace Varela Linked to Underground Power Shift.”
The article was short, but every word felt heavier than the last. A pureblood Alpha from one of the oldest, most ruthless bloodlines, rumored to control entire sectors of trade and territory. Some said he ran his own pack across borders. Others whispered he didn’t answer to anyone.
Her fingers tightened on the phone.
Varela.
So that was his name.
The article ended with a photo.
He was in a black suit, standing beside a car, sunglasses shielding his eyes—but she didn’t need to see them to know. Even through a screen, she could feel that same pull, that same awareness that had crackled between them in her studio.
Her stomach turned. She’d let him into her home.
No—he’d let himself in.
The mug in her hand trembled. She set it down, breathing hard.
Her phone buzzed. A text.
Ace Varela: Now you know my name.
Her pulse skipped.
Another text followed, seconds later.
Ace Varela: Say it out loud for me, Fernanda.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
She wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. She wasn’t going to say his name, not out loud, not even to herself.
She typed instead, Stay away from me.
The reply came instantly.
Ace Varela: Not possible.
Her stomach knotted. She was still staring at the words when another message appeared.
Ace Varela: Look up.
Her head snapped up before she could stop herself.
He was standing across the street.
Daylight didn’t soften him. If anything, it made him sharper—tall and broad-shouldered in a dark jacket, his hair slightly mussed like he’d just run his hand through it. People moved around him, oblivious, but she couldn’t look anywhere else.
Her pulse kicked hard. How long had he been standing there?
Another buzz.
Ace Varela: Cross over.
She shook her head, mouthing the word no.
He smiled—slow, knowing—and started walking toward her.
She backed into the doorway of her building, clutching her phone like it could shield her.
“You don’t listen very well,” he said when he reached her, voice pitched low enough that no one passing by could hear.
“Because I’m not yours,” she shot back, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
His eyes darkened, gold flickering at the edges. “You keep saying that like you think it matters.”
“Because it does.”
He took a step closer, his scent wrapping around her, warm and dangerous. “You feel it too. The bond. You can lie to yourself, Fernanda, but you can’t lie to me.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for the world to blur. “But you’re mine anyway.”
Someone bumped past them, breaking the moment. Fernanda used the distraction to slip inside the building, slamming the door between them.
Through the glass, she saw him watching her—not angry, not frustrated, just certain.
And that was what scared her most.
She pressed her back to the lobby wall, forcing herself to breathe. Through the glass, Ace hadn’t moved—just stood there, watching her with the calm patience of someone who had all the time in the world.
Finally, he lifted his phone. Her own buzzed a heartbeat later.
Ace Varela: You can hide behind glass if it makes you feel safer. Won’t change a thing.
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
The elevator doors slid open behind her and Mrs. Calloway from 4B stepped out, arms loaded with grocery bags. She glanced from Fernanda to the man outside and gave a knowing little smirk. “Your boyfriend?”
Fernanda’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Mrs. Calloway chuckled and shuffled toward the mailboxes. “Careful with the tall, handsome ones, dear. They’re the ones that ruin you.”
The words stuck with her long after the older woman disappeared up the stairs.
When Fernanda finally dared another glance outside, Ace was gone. The sidewalk was empty, but her skin still tingled like he’d left part of himself behind.
She rode the elevator up to her floor, trying to shake the feeling. Her apartment door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment the quiet was almost a relief.
Until she saw the envelope.
It lay on the floor just inside the door, crisp white with her name written in precise, slanted handwriting. She hadn’t heard anyone slip it under.
Hands trembling, she tore it open.
Inside was a single Polaroid.
Her—standing at her kitchen window, taken from the street below. The blinds had been half-open, her head bent over her phone. She didn’t remember anyone being there.
Written across the bottom in that same black ink were four words:
“I like the view.”
Her breath caught, and the Polaroid slipped from her fingers to the floor.
Fernanda’s gaze darted to the window instinctively, but the blinds were now drawn tight. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes on her—like he was out there, hidden, waiting.
She snatched up the Polaroid, shoving it back into the envelope as if burying it could erase the reality of it. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Her phone buzzed again.
No name. Just a number she hadn’t saved—but she knew it was him.
Unknown: Lock your door, Omega.
Her stomach twisted. She turned the deadbolt slowly, the sound echoing far too loud in the silence.
And then, against every ounce of reason she had, she peeked through the peephole.
Nothing.
No one.
Only the empty hallway stretching out in both directions.
But deep down, Fernanda knew he was still there. Somewhere close. Somewhere watching.
And that this was only the beginning.
- Writer
