Chapter Two: The Feeling of Being Chosen
1235 Words
Jade didn’t sleep that night.
It wasn’t fear exactly. Fear was sharp and loud. This was different. This was a quiet awareness. Like the world had tilted half a degree and only she could feel it.
The note lay on her nightstand.
I see you.
Two words. No punctuation. No signature.
She’d read it at least twenty times.
Her apartment suddenly felt smaller. The familiar comfort of her space—cream walls, dim fairy lights, the soft hum of her ceiling fan—felt staged. Artificial. Like a set someone else had constructed to observe her inside it.
Across the street, in the darkness between buildings, Zade watched the light in her bedroom flicker on and off.
He hadn’t expected her to sleep.
He leaned back against the brick wall of the rooftop opposite her apartment. He didn’t need binoculars. He knew her window. Third from the left. The slight crack in the lower corner of the glass. The plant she always forgot to water.
He had learned her world piece by piece.
Some men fall in love.
Zade curated it.
The next morning, Jade tried to act normal.
Routine was grounding. Shower. Jeans. White blouse. The silver necklace she always wore. She told herself she was overreacting. It could be a prank. A neighbor. A mistake.
Still, she locked her door twice before leaving.
The street felt louder than usual. Car engines roared too close. Footsteps echoed too sharply. She kept glancing behind her.
No one.
Except—
A man standing near the crosswalk.
Black coat. Hands in pockets. Cap low over his eyes.
He wasn’t looking at her.
But he wasn’t not looking at her either.
Her stomach tightened.
When the light changed, she crossed quickly. When she looked back, he hadn’t moved.
Zade didn’t follow.
Not yet.
He preferred anticipation.
At the café, her usual order sat waiting at the counter.
Double shot latte. Extra foam.
Her heart stuttered.
“I didn’t order ahead,” she told the barista.
The girl blinked. “It’s already paid for.”
“By who?”
The barista shrugged. “A guy. Didn’t say his name.”
Jade’s fingers trembled around the cup.
Heat spread through her chest—not warmth. Not exactly fear.
Something electric.
He wasn’t just watching.
He was thinking.
Across the street, inside a parked car, Zade observed her through the windshield.
She noticed.
Good.
He studied her expression the way a scientist studies a reaction. Confusion. Alarm. Curiosity.
Curiosity was the dangerous one.
Zade did not consider himself reckless.
He was disciplined. Strategic. Meticulous.
He didn’t kill for pleasure. He killed when necessary.
People who got in the way. People who asked questions. People who mistook his silence for weakness.
He had learned long ago that attachments were vulnerabilities.
Until Jade.
She wasn’t a vulnerability.
She was an inevitability.
There was a difference.
That evening, Jade walked home faster than usual.
Every shadow stretched longer.
Every passing stranger felt suspicious.
She hated that she felt watched—and hated more that part of her wondered what he looked like. How old he was. Why her.
When she reached her apartment building, she paused.
A single white rose lay on the front steps.
Her breath caught.
It couldn’t be random.
She looked around.
Empty sidewalk. Fading sunlight. The world moving like nothing was wrong.
Slowly, she picked up the rose.
Tucked beneath it was another note.
You look beautiful when you’re nervous.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
He had been close enough to see her expression.
Close enough to study her.
Close enough to touch her if he wanted.
The thought made her knees weak.
Zade watched from the reflection of a darkened storefront.
He did not smile.
He rarely did.
But something inside him settled.
She understood now.
Jade locked herself inside and pressed her back against the door.
She should call the police.
That would be the logical choice.
But what would she say?
A man bought my coffee and left a flower.
It sounded ridiculous.
Except it didn’t feel ridiculous.
She paced her apartment.
Checked the windows.
Pulled the curtains tight.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She stared at the screen until it stopped ringing.
Then a message appeared.
Don’t be afraid.
Her breath left her in a shaky exhale.
Another message.
I would never hurt you.
That was the first time she truly felt fear.
Because people who said that rarely meant it.
Across the street, Zade lowered the burner phone.
He knew the effect of reassurance.
It unsettled people more than threats.
He wasn’t interested in terror.
He wanted possession.
There was a difference.
Days passed.
The gifts continued.
Her favorite book left at her door with a highlighted line about fate.
A playlist sent from an anonymous account filled with songs that mirrored her moods.
A scarf placed neatly over the back of a café chair before she arrived—like a claim.
Each gesture was precise.
Intimate.
Unavoidable.
Jade began looking for him.
That was when Zade knew he had crossed the first threshold.
When fear becomes searching, the dynamic changes.
She scanned crowds now.
Looked for the black coat.
The shadow.
The man at the edge of her vision.
One afternoon, she saw him clearly for the first time.
Standing across the street.
Tall.
Still.
Watching her openly.
Their eyes met.
Time slowed.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
There was nothing frantic in his gaze. No panic. No embarrassment.
Just certainty.
She felt it in her bones.
This man believed she belonged to him.
A car passed between them.
When it moved on—
He was gone.
Her breath came fast.
She hated that her first thought wasn’t run.
It was follow.
Zade returned home that night and removed the photographs from his desk drawer.
He didn’t need them anymore.
He had seen recognition in her eyes.
Recognition was the beginning of attachment.
He traced her image with his thumb.
“I’m patient,” he murmured to the empty room.
He had waited for less important things.
He could wait for her.
But patience had limits.
And Jade was growing braver.
Bravery could be dangerous.
For both of them.
That night, Jade dreamed of him.
Not clearly.
Just the outline of a man in darkness, stepping closer, whispering her name like it belonged to him.
When she woke, her bedroom window was slightly open.
She was certain she had locked it.
Her blood ran cold.
On the windowsill sat a small object.
Her silver necklace.
The one she always wore.
The one she had taken off to sleep.
Her hands began to shake.
He had been inside.
Close enough to touch her.
Close enough to take something from her skin.
Close enough to return it.
She pressed her hand over her mouth to stop the scream.
Across the street, from the rooftop, Zade watched the light in her room turn on.
He had not touched her.
Not yet.
But he had stood close enough to feel the warmth of her breath in the dark.
He had memorized the rhythm of it.
And when she woke—
When she realized—
That was the moment he knew.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Because obsession isn’t just about control.
It’s about inevitability.
And Jade Greenland had just stepped fully into his world.
Whether she wanted to or not.
- Writer
