His Victim, His Obsession

Chapter 01

Selene Connell

A few days had gone by, but my mind was still stuck on *that* night.

The sound of gunshots.

The screams.

The smell of blood.

And… the empty stare of that wounded guy.

Even after the cleanup, the restocking, the new promo posters in the windows… the little market was never the same again.

I tried walking past it the other day. My legs gave out for a second.

My body froze.

All I could do was look at it… and keep walking.

Just blinking was enough to trigger flashes of everything.

And I couldn’t afford to break down.

Not now.

At home, I stared at myself in the mirror of our tiny bathroom, tugging at the worn-out uniform from the diner. It felt a little tighter than before, and that made me uncomfortable.

I took a deep breath, trying to wipe off the look of someone who hadn’t slept right in three nights.

Morning shift at the diner.

Dog walker in the afternoon.

Delivery driver at night.

That was my life.

Each day, just a little closer to affording a private investigator.

Every penny saved like my life depended on it.

Because no matter how tired I was, no matter how heavy the world felt on my shoulders…

My sister was still my compass.

And I wasn’t about to stop now.

I got to the diner before the sun had fully climbed the sky. The air was still cold, and the city was slowly waking up.

I unlocked the door, turned on the machines, wiped down the counters. The smell of strong coffee quickly filled the place, and the usual customers began to trickle in.

Familiar faces. Rushed people, always checking the time.

I put on my automatic smile, pretending I didn’t feel the exhaustion dragging me down.

Until the door opened.

And I froze.

The bell chimed.

One step.

Two.

It was him.

The man from the market.

My whole body tensed. My hands paused mid-coffee prep.

He walked past me calmly, like he was just another customer.

And I just stood there behind the counter, heart racing, waiting…

For something.

A glance.

A nod.

A simple *“hi.”*

I saved him.

Killed two men for him.

And he just… walked past me.

Head high, face serene—like he’d never seen me before.

Like I was just another waitress.

The sting hit deep.

My fingers clenched tightly around the coffee cup I was making, the plastic creaking under the pressure.

“Oh my god, did you *see* that guy?” one of the girls in line whispered, giggling.

“He looks like some European movie star.”

“I saw him glance over here. Do you think he’s single?”

“I bet he’s rich. Totally has a private driver vibe.”

The whispers spread like wildfire.

Everyone noticed him.

Everyone talked about him.

And I just stood there, pretending I wasn’t listening, trying to stay focused on the coffee—

But my blood was already boiling.

Because he didn’t just show up out of nowhere like nothing had happened…

He ignored me.

Like I was invisible.

I let out a sharp breath, annoyed, trying to keep my expression neutral as I placed the lid on the cup.

"Forget it, Selene. Focus."

I was just about to call the next customer when I saw him raise his hand.

He didn’t even look around—just lifted his fingers, waiting to be served.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like I was *his* waitress.

Everyone else was busy. The line was picking up, and eyes were already turning toward me.

Of course. Just perfect.

He was mine to deal with.

I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath, and walked over to his table.

With every step, I became more aware of the sound of my heartbeat, of the pressure building in my chest.

And when I stopped beside him, he looked up.

And smiled.

I tried to force a polite smile—that automatic one we practice when we need to look fine even though everything inside is falling apart.

Maybe he doesn't remember me.

Maybe it was the blood loss… or the shock… maybe it erased everything.

The gunshots.

The bodies.

Me.

It’s not like I mattered, right?

To him, I’m probably just another face.

I let out a quiet sigh before flipping open my notepad.

“What can I get you?” I asked, keeping my voice professional.

He looked up slowly, that same gentle smile on his face—polite, almost too polite.

“A coffee, please.”

That was it.

Nothing in his eyes hinted at recognition.

No spark, no discomfort, no trace of emotion in his voice.

It was like this was the first time we’d ever met.

I nodded, scribbled the order, and gave him another smile—this one weaker.

Then I turned around and walked back to the counter, trying to shake off the knot tightening in my chest.

Maybe it’s better this way.

Maybe I should be thankful he doesn’t remember.

But still...

It hurt.

I made the coffee with more care than usual.

Measured everything precisely—the temperature, the sugar, the timing.

My hands moved slowly, like the drink could somehow say everything I wasn’t allowed to.

I returned to the table and placed the cup gently in front of him.

He looked down, then up at me again, and said with that same overly-polite kindness,

“Thank you.”

I went back to the counter with what was left of my dignity, trying to lose myself in orders, trays, and dirty cups.

But it was pointless.

My eyes kept drifting back to him.

I told myself it was a coincidence.

Just a reflex.

Just... a slip.

But it wasn’t.

And the strangest part?

He was doing the same.

Sometimes, when I glanced over, he was already watching me.

Other times, it was like he knew the exact moment I’d look—his eyes already there, waiting.

Every time I wiped down a table, I felt it.

That heat in the air. That invisible weight brushing against my skin.

His gaze.

And for some reason, it... rattled me.

Then he’d look away, like nothing happened.

Like he was pretending too.

And so it went.

Minutes stretching into hours.

My shift was almost over, the morning rush giving way to the lazy lull of lunchtime.

I took off my apron, tied my hair up again, and headed to the back to get my things.

As I gathered them, part of me wanted to look back one last time.

To make sure he was real.

To confirm he was actually there.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t feed hope.

Not after everything that happened.

A guy like him would never notice someone like me.

A nobody.

Broke.

Unlucky.

I was just the girl who served coffee with tired hands and shadows under her eyes.

And he… he looked like he belonged to a world that would never let someone like me in.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my backpack, and walked out.

Afternoon shift. Dog walker.

Another job.

Another step toward the only thing that mattered now.

Finding my sister.

Nothing else mattered.