TWISTED LOVE

Elena hardly slept that night. Every creak of the apartment seemed louder, every shadow sharper. By morning, her thoughts were a tangled mix of disbelief and fear. She tried convincing herself that Lucas’s phone call had been some bizarre coincidence—but the way he’d said her name still echoed in her ears. At the gallery the next day, Elena threw herself into work. She adjusted the lighting on the canvases, double-checked the invoices, and did nothing to drown out the memory of his voice. Yet, she found herself staring at a painting of stormy seas, unable to shake the image of Lucas standing under that flickering lamp. “You look distracted.” Elena jumped at the sound of her colleague Mia’s voice. The older woman raised an eyebrow, lips curled in a knowing smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally met someone." That dazed look is not from lack of coffee. Elena forced a laugh. “Please." Men are the last thing on my mind.” But Mia wasn’t convinced. “Mm-hm." Just don’t let him break your heart. Or worse.” The words hit harder than they should. Or worse. By evening, Elena stayed behind to close the gallery. She was locking up when the reflection of a tall figure appeared in the glass door. Her breath caught, but she didn’t turn. “I didn’t take you for someone who works this late,” a familiar voice said. Smooth. Teasing. She spun around. Lucas leaned casually against the doorway, dressed in dark clothes that seemed to melt into the night. His eyes—sharp, unreadable—studied her with quiet amusement. “What are you doing here?” Elena asked, her tone sharper than intended. “Maybe I wanted to see you.” Her pulse skipped, equal parts irritation and something far more dangerous. “How do you even know where I work?” Lucas smiled, tilting his head slightly. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn if you pay attention.” The cryptic answer sent a chill down her spine. “You’re following me.” “Protecting you,” he corrected softly, stepping closer. “That street you walk at night—it isn’t safe. Not everyone you pass has good intentions. Elena crossed her arms, forcing herself to stand her ground. “And what about you? Should I believe you’re the exception? His lips curved, though his eyes never softened. “That depends." Do you want me to be?” The silence between them grew heavy, charged. She hated the way he unsettled her, the way her body responded to his nearness even as her mind screamed caution. “I don’t even know you,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “Then get to know me,” Lucas replied. For a long moment, Elena said nothing. But something reckless stirred in her chest—curiosity, desire, maybe even loneliness. Against every sensible bone in her body, she didn’t walk away. Instead, she found herself at a small café two blocks from the gallery, sitting across from him. The dim lighting cast shadows across his sharp features. He didn’t fidget, didn’t glance at his phone, didn’t seem like other men she’d known. He looked at her as though she was the only person in the world worth noticing. “So, what is it you do?” Elena asked cautiously. “I manage… investments,” Lucas said smoothly. It was vague, too vague, but his confidence made it sound plausible. “What kind of investments?” He smiled. “The kind that keeps people interested in me, and the kind I can’t discuss over coffee.” Elena arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like a line.” “Does it work?” She tried not to smile, but failed. He was infuriating—and yet magnetic. For nearly an hour, their conversation drifted between playful banter and quiet revelations. Lucas was guarded, yet he had a way of turning questions back on her, of making her talk more than she intended. By the time they left the café, Elena realized she had shared more about herself than she had with anyone in months. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick with reflection. Lucas walked her back toward her building, keeping a measured pace. “Do you always make a habit of following strangers?” she asked lightly, trying to mask the nervous flutter in her chest. He glanced sideways at her. “You stopped being a stranger the moment I learned your name.” Her steps faltered. “Which you never explained how you knew.” Lucas paused, then leaned closer, his voice dropping low. “Some mysteries are better unraveled slowly." Otherwise, what’s the fun?” Before Elena could reply, a sharp crash echoed from the alley beside them. A bottle rolling across the pavement. She stiffened. Lucas’s expression hardened instantly, the charm in his eyes replaced by something colder, sharper. He placed a steady hand on her back, guiding her forward. “Keep walking,” he murmured. “Was that—” “Don’t look,” he warned. His tone left no room for argument. They crossed the block quickly, Elena’s heartbeat thundering in her ears. Only when they reached her building did Lucas release his hand. “Goodnight, Elena.” His words were soft, but his gaze carried a weight that unsettled her. She wanted to demand answers, to push for clarity, but instead she found herself whispering, “Goodnight.” Lucas turned, his figure melting into the shadows once more. Elena stood rooted to the spot, clutching her keys. Every instinct told her to run from him, to slam the door and lock herself away. And yet… a part of her longed for the next time she’d see him. Elena finally made it up the stairs to her apartment, though her legs felt heavier with each step. By the time she closed the door behind her, she let her back slide against it, heart still racing. She wasn’t sure if it was from the strange noise in the alley… or from Lucas’s eyes on her. She threw her keys onto the counter and paced the living room, trying to collect her thoughts. Why am I letting this get to me? He’s just a man. A stanger. I shouldn’t care. And yet, when she replayed their conversation, she caught herself smiling. She hated it. She hated the way his words had stayed in her chest, lingering like perfume. A knock startled her. She froze. Three soft raps against the door. Not hurried. Not impatient. Just deliberate. Her pulse spiked. Slowly, carefully, she stepped toward the peephole, her breath catching in her throat. Nothing. The hallway was empty. Elena’s skin prickled. She pressed her palm against the door, as though she could feel something or someone lurking on the other side. She forced herself to whisper: “Get a grip.” Shaking her head, she retreated to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. But even in the safety of her sheets, with the city hum faint beyond the window, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. When sleep finally came, it was restless. She dreamed of dark alleys and shadowed eyes. Of Lucas’s hand guiding her through the night. Of whispers in the dark saying her name over and over. She woke before dawn, breathless, the echo of that dream clinging to her skin like sweat. On her phone, a new message blinked from an unknown number. You shouldn’t ignore your instincts, Elena. No greeting. No explanation. Just those words. Her fingers trembled as she read them again. Somehow, she didn’t need to ask who had sent it