SHADOW OF DECEPTION

CHAPTER 3: Three secrets of the night

The city never really sleeps. It hums with life long after midnight, neon lights bleeding into the darkness like whispers of secrets no one wants to keep. From my window, I can see the reflection of the world I once trusted slipping away, piece by piece.

Adrian Cross had appeared out of nowhere, like a storm I didn’t see coming. And now, no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop replaying our last meeting. His voice still echoed in my head, low and smooth, like velvet soaked in danger. He had said my name like it meant something.

I told myself to forget. To focus on work. To breathe. But that night, when I closed my laptop, I saw him again standing outside my apartment building, looking up. His black coat moved slightly in the wind, his face half in shadow, his eyes unreadable even from the distance.

I should have been afraid. Instead, my pulse quickened.

I grabbed my coat and went down before I could change my mind. The lobby was empty, the security guard asleep in his chair, the air heavy with silence. As the glass doors slid open, the cool night air brushed against my skin, bringing me back to life.

He was still there.

“You shouldn’t walk alone this late,” he said when I stepped closer. His tone was calm, almost casual, but there was something else beneath it. Concern maybe. Or control. I couldn’t tell which.

“And yet you’re the one waiting outside my building,” I replied, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was a wild drum inside me.

A flicker of something amusement?crossed his face. “Maybe I was hoping to see you again.”

“Why?”

He took a step forward. Just one, but it was enough to close the distance between us. I could smell his cologne, subtle and dark, the kind that lingers after someone leaves a room. His eyes met mine and for a moment, everything around us fell away—the city noise, the cold, even reason itself.

“Because,” he said softly, “you looked like someone searching for answers.”

“And you think you have them?”

“No.” His gaze deepened. “But I know what it’s like to live with questions that burn.”

I should have turned around. I should have walked back inside and locked my door. But instead, I found myself saying, “Then maybe we’re both lost.”

He smiled then, a slow, dangerous smile that felt like a secret invitation. “Maybe.”

We stood there for what felt like forever, the streetlights flickering above us, the world holding its breath. Something unspoken passed between us a pull neither of us could name but both felt. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t rational. But it was real.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Let me walk you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

And somehow, without another thought, I followed him.

We walked side by side through the sleeping city. The streets glowed with the faint light of distant signs, the air thick with possibility. He didn’t talk much, and neither did I. Every few minutes, I’d steal a glance at him, trying to read the man behind the calm. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw tense, his posture sharp. He looked like someone used to control—someone who had seen too much.

When we stopped in front of a small coffee shop, the kind that stayed open past midnight, he gestured for me to enter first. Inside, it smelled of cinnamon and espresso. The lights were soft. The world outside felt miles away.

He ordered black coffee. I asked for tea. Then, for the first time, I noticed the scar on his left hand, thin and pale, like a memory carved into skin.

“What happened?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He looked at me, eyes steady. “A mistake.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“Some nights.”

I nodded, and silence stretched between us again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Every heartbeat, every glance, felt heavier than it should.

He leaned back slightly. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

His lips curved faintly. “Probably.”

But I wasn’t. Or maybe I was, just not in the way he thought. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew me in despite the warnings flashing in my mind. The way he looked at me wasn’t casual ,it was as if he was memorizing me, piece by piece, like a secret he intended to keep.

By the time we left the café, the city had gone quiet again. The air was colder, but I didn’t feel it. When he offered to walk me back, I didn’t refuse.

We stopped outside my building again. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us said everything words couldn’t.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he said finally, his voice low and smooth.

“Goodnight, Adrian.”

He turned to leave, but before he did, his hand brushed against mine barely a touch, but enough to leave a spark that lingered long after he was gone.

That night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his scar, his eyes, the way he said my name like he already knew how my story would end.

I didn’t know then that meeting him again would change everything.