One Night, One Scar

Chapter Three: Shadow Follows

A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered a warning I tried to silence: This will destroy you.

But I was already hooked.

I pulled on my jacket and stormed out, the cold night air biting at my skin, chasing after a ghost I couldn’t catch.

I grabbed my phone and checked the cameras in the building. Nothing. She was smart and avoided them. Or maybe she didn’t want to be remembered.

Too f*****g bad. I remembered everything.

Her scent was still on my sheets. My hands still remembered the way her hips fit into my palms like they belonged there. My mouth God, I could still taste her. She’d say please. Begged me. And now she was gone?

Just like that?

I wasn’t some needy guy who fell apart after a night. That’s not who I was. I didn’t chase. I didn’t feel.

But I couldn’t sit still.

I didn’t even realize I’d driven halfway across the city until I pulled up in front of the bar where I first saw her. It was closed. Of course, it was. The street was empty, too early for the drunks, too late for the desperate. Just me and the echo of her laugh, the ghost of her eyes.

I got out of the car anyway. Lit a cigarette I didn’t want and paced the sidewalk like an i***t, hoping something, anything would bring her back.

I didn’t even know her last name.

But f**k, that didn’t matter.

I’d find her.

Even if I had to tear through every inch of this city.

Even if it made me look crazy.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she moaned my name like it hurt her. The way she stared up at me when I touched her like I was both the fire and the knife.

She was dangerous.

And I was already burning.

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned against the wall, chest tight, eyes staring at nothing.

She said it was just one night.

She lied.

And if she thought she could just disappear, she didn’t know me at all.

I don’t do one-night stands.

Not when the night feels like fate.

That’s how long it had been since I walked out of his apartment.

Three weeks since his hands were on my body, his breath hot against my skin, his mouth saying my name like it meant something. Like I meant something.

But I didn’t. It was just a night. That’s what I told myself.

Still… I haven’t stopped shaking since.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I felt him. Not just his touch, but the way he looked at me, like he saw me, like he knew things I hadn’t even admitted to myself. And that scared the hell out of me.

I had deleted his number. Blocked the thought of him like it was a virus. Filled my days with meaningless distractions. Work. Friends. Noise. Anything to shut off the ache that refused to leave me alone.

But no matter how many times I told myself he was a stranger, my body remembered him like a damn religion.

I tried to sleep with someone else last week. Tried to, anyway. I thought maybe it’d shake him out of me. But the moment his hands touched me, I went cold.

Because he wasn’t him.

And I hated that I wanted Jace to haunt me. I hated it, but I didn’t stop it.

God, what is wrong with me?

I tried to forget everything. I’ve really tried.

I checked every goddamn name on the bar’s employee list. Nothing.

Checked every girl who walked in that night. Paid a guy to pull the footage. I watched her on repeat like an addict. The way she walked, the way she smiled was soft, but guarded. Beautiful in a way that didn’t even feel fair.

I didn’t know why it mattered. I just knew it did.

I couldn’t f*****g focus. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat without wondering what her mouth tasted like that morning. Every woman I have looked at since just reminded me of how badly they weren’t her.

She’d taken something. And I wanted it back. Or maybe I just wanted her again so I could break the spell.

But the thought of touching her once more?

It wasn’t just lust anymore.

It was need. Messy, desperate need.

I’d learned how to track people years ago. It was part of what I did, part of who I was. And I wasn’t above using those tools now.

Because I had to find her.

Had to know if she felt it too.

And when I do…

God help her.

Because I wasn’t walking away this time.

The thought of her kept hunting me.

Not on the outside no one would’ve guessed it because I still showed up at the gym at six sharp. Still ran my meetings like I owned the damn world. Still clenched my jaw through the night like always, sleeping in a bed that felt colder now, for no reason I wanted to admit.

But on the inside?

I was spiraling, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

I’d told myself it was just s*x. One night. No strings.

Hell, I have lived by that rule for years.

So why the hell was I still thinking about her two damn weeks later?

It was pathetic.

I knew it.

Checking my phone at red lights like a teenage boy. Scanning the crowds like she might just be there, standing at the bar again, looking everywhere hoping to find her.

She didn’t leave a message. No last name. No clue.

Just vanished.

And it messed with my head more than I wanted to admit.

Women left. I let them.

But this was different.

There was something about her.

Something unfinished. Like I’d opened a book, read one chapter, and then someone ripped the rest out of my hands.

It wasn’t about pride. Or ego.

It was her. Just… her.

I caught myself doing stupid s**t. Dumb things.

Calling numbers that didn’t ring.

I even laughed at myself the first few times.

Like what the hell are you doing, man?

Calling once? Maybe curiosity.

Twice? Maybe I just wanted to check.

By the time I was five contacts deep and messaging shady trackers on forums?

Yeah.

I’d crossed that line.

Obsession.

That’s what it was.

She had gotten under my skin without even trying, and now she was everywhere.

In my head. On my sheets. In the goddamn silence when everything else was quiet.

I’d even paid someone to trace her phone only to find out it’d been deactivated.

She was gone.

Ghosted me like I was the one who got used.

I told myself I didn’t care.

Then I went back to that club. Twice.

Sat there like a man possessed, hoping to hear her laugh again, feel her brush past him in the dark. Nothing. Not a glimpse.

Not a sound.

I didn’t even have a last name.

Just “Selena.”

And now that stupid name played on a loop in my head.

But last night?

I caught a thread.

I sat down for the first time in what felt like years. Opened my laptop. Fingers hovering over the keys.

It felt ridiculous.

“Selena.”

That was all I typed. No last name. No job. No anything.

I tried everything. Scroll after scroll. Different spellings, filters, hashtags. Days passed. I told myself to quit, then didn’t.

And then there she was.

One profile. Private. No bio. One blurry photo.

But it was her.

I knew it.

Followed her.

Messaged her.

No reply.

I checked every few hours.

Then every hour.

Then every damn time my phone lit up.

Still nothing.

But I didn’t stop.

I saved the photo. Set it as my wallpaper.

Yeah, it was insane. I knew it.

But the more she ignored me, the more she haunted me.

I didn’t even know why.

She wasn’t my usual type. Not polished. Not predictable.

But she felt real. Sharp edges and all.

And the truth?

She had ruined me. Quietly. From the inside out.

And now I couldn’t stop.

Not until I saw her again.

Not until I had her again.

Sometimes I just sit in my car after work. No music. No distractions. Just me and that awful silence that creeps in.

And I wonder… did it mean anything to him?

Was I just another body? Just a night to forget?

Or does he remember the way I kissed him like I was trying to erase someone else… or maybe myself?

I never answer those questions. I don’t let myself go there. Not for long. That way lies madness, and I’ve already been there, already paid the toll.

So instead, I whisper the same thing every time I feel that ache start to rise in my chest.

“You don’t need him. You survived worse. You’ll survive this too.”

Like a prayer I barely believe in anymore.

I parked, wiped my face, and forced myself out of the car.

The clinic lights hit me the moment I walked in cold, sterile, almost judgmental. Everything felt too bright. Too sharp.

I tugged my lab coat straight, adjusted my ID badge, and walked out of the break room with a cup of lukewarm coffee and a fake smile stapled to my face.

“Morning, Ms. Selena,” Karla said with a tired grin.

“Morning. How’s Room 3 doing?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound normal.

“Vitals are stable. He’s resting.”

“Good.” I nodded and kept walking.

This place isn’t fancy. It’s not glamorous or shiny. It’s just… honest. A small rehab and wellness clinic. People come here broken, and if we’re lucky, they leave a little less so.

I took this job after Derrick. After the mess. I needed quiet. Something soft. Something I could control.

And most days, it helps. I focus on the patients. I keep busy. I stay moving so the ache doesn’t catch me.

But today? My mind was somewhere else. With someone else.

I tapped my phone open during a slow moment, hoping for nothing expecting even less.

And there it was.

A follow request.

And a bunch of unread DMs.

I froze.

My thumb hovered over the icon as my chest tightened, like my lungs had suddenly stopped working.

Jace.

He found me.

I never used my last name on i********:. Hell, I didn’t even post often. It should’ve been impossible.

But clearly, he wasn’t the type to give up.

I clicked the messages with shaking hands.

They weren’t dirty. No winks. No emojis. Just… words. Raw and simple.

“Selena, it’s Jace.”

“I know this is out of nowhere. I just… wanted to talk.”

“Can we start over?”

“Say something. Anything.”

“Okay. I’ll stop bothering you.”

“I think I owe you a real conversation.”

“Not sure if you’ll ever see this. But I hope you’re okay.”

“Still thinking about that night, Selena. You’re haunting me.”

And for a second just one stupid, stupid second my heart fluttered.

I told myself I was over it. That I didn’t care.

But the truth?

I did.

I hated that I did, but I did.

I set the phone down and stared at the wall, wishing I hadn’t read it. Wishing I didn’t feel anything. But I felt everything.

All over again.