CHAPTER 5
612 Words
The rain was soft, whispering against the windows like a memory that refused to fade. Alina didn’t sleep. She hadn’t, not since the message.
He’s here. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
It wasn’t paranoia, not when it was him.
The man who kissed her like war, but owned her like a prayer.
She sat curled on the windows ill of her small apartment, arms wrapped around her knees. The city blinked below her in drowsy yellow lights. Her tea had long gone cold.
She heard it again, the same sound for the third night in a row.
A knock.
Not on her door. On the window.
Her fourth-floor window.
Her body froze, breath held captive in her lungs. She turned slowly, eyes scanning the glass.
Nothing.
But she knew better.
He had always been a ghost in the night. He didn’t need a key to get in. He was the key.
She got up slowly, heartbeat like a warning bell in her ears. She crept toward the window.
There, in the corner.
A mark. A fingerprint.
Pressed deliberately. Left like a message. A promise. Or a threat.
She knew that scar. That crooked pressure. That fingerprint had been pressed to her cheek before, when he held her face and whispered:
“No one will ever touch what’s mine.”
...
Morning came cold. She barely blinked through it.
Alina stepped out to the alley behind her building, trash in hand. A street cat scurried past her feet.
But her eyes locked onto something far more terrifying.
A black car. Idling. Unmoving.
It had been there yesterday. And the day before.
She turned to walk away, but the window rolled down just enough.
A single white rose dropped onto the pavement.
Her steps froze.
He was toying with her.
Just like he used to, back when he was still her everything, and she was naive enough to believe monsters didn’t bleed.
...
Flashback | 3 years ago
“You trust me?” he asked her, his voice low as sin, his breath dancing against her ear.
She had nodded. Heart beating too fast. “Yes.”
He pulled back, that wicked smile slashing across his face. “Bad choice, baby.”
She should’ve known then.
She did know.
But she loved him anyway.
...
Now.
The sound of her apartment door unlocking from the inside hit her like a gunshot.
She didn't move.
She didn’t have to.
Because before she could even scream, a familiar voice cut through the silence behind her.
Deep. Calm. Lethal.
“I waited long enough.”
Her breath caught.
She turned slowly.
And there he was.
Dante.
Wearing black on black, a long coat damp from rain, his hair slightly tousled like he just walked through hell and didn’t care, because he was the devil himself.
And he looked straight at her.
Like she was the only woman in the world who had ever made him feel alive. Like he’d crawl through fire just to hear her breathe.
“Still running?” he asked, his voice like smoke and velvet.
Alina swallowed. “Still hunting?”
A dangerous smile curled at his lips.
Then he took a step toward her, and the world stopped spinning.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
He didn’t flinch.
“I’m not here for you to believe me.”
Another step. His scent, rich, dark, and sinful, wrapped around her like an old addiction.
“I’m here to take you back.”
She shook her head. “I’m not yours anymore.”
Silence.
Then he whispered,
“You never stopped being mine.”
- Writer
