His Dangerous Love

Two

I didn’t sleep.

I tried. I really did.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. The gun. The body. His eyes.

So I just lay there, curled into the corner of my bed, blanket wrapped tight around me like it could block out the memory clawing at the edges of my mind.

By the time the sun rose, my limbs felt like lead. I stared at the ceiling for a while, watching the shadows shift, until my alarm went off like a scream I wasn’t ready for.

The world didn’t care that I was unraveling.

I still had to show up at the café like it was any other Thursday.

I moved on autopilot—shower, jeans, hoodie, keys, front door. I paused at the peephole, heart pounding, half-expecting to see him standing there. But the hallway was empty. Silent.

Still, I hesitated before unlocking it.

The city didn’t feel the same anymore. Every corner, every alley, every set of footsteps behind me made my skin crawl. I kept my head down on the walk to work, avoiding eye contact, jumping at car horns and sudden laughter. The world was too loud and I was too fragile.

When I pushed into the café, the warm scent of espresso and vanilla hit me hard. Familiar. Safe. Normal.

But I didn’t feel any of those things.

“Morning, Isla!”

Lana, my coworker, leaned against the counter with her usual bright grin, sipping something that probably had five espresso shots and zero milk. “You look like death. Long night?”

I forced a smile. “You have no idea.”

“Men?” she wiggled her brows.

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

She blinked, and I added, “Just… couldn’t sleep.”

That wasn’t a lie.

She snorted. “Same. I swear if my upstairs neighbor clomps around in heels at 2 a.m. one more time, I might actually murder her.”

The word murder made my breath hitch.

My fingers clenched tighter around the strap of my bag. “Yeah. That’s… rough.”

I clocked in, tied my apron, and kept my hands busy. Coffee. Muffins. Orders. Smile. Repeat.

I didn’t talk much.

I nodded when spoken to, laughed when something was vaguely funny, and tried not to let my hands shake when I poured hot drinks.

Around eleven, Elio—the owner’s twenty-something son who thought being charming was a personality—leaned over the counter toward me.

“You good?” he asked, more serious than usual.

I paused, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re… off today.”

My heart pounded. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I nodded, but my voice came out thinner than I liked. “Just tired.”

He shrugged, but didn’t press. “If you need to leave early, I can cover for you.”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly again. “I need the hours.”

And I did. I couldn’t afford to skip shifts, not with rent due next week.

Still… I was off. I knew it.

I dropped a cup earlier, nearly screamed when the blender went off behind me, and flinched when someone in line reached into their coat a little too fast.

My body didn’t trust the world anymore. Not after last night.

But I couldn’t say anything.

Who would believe me? Why would I even say something?

There were rules in a city like this. Unspoken ones. You don’t go looking into things that don’t concern you. You don’t ask about men who walk like kings and shoot like gods. And you definitely don’t mention the moment your life brushed up against something it had no business touching.

I hadn’t seen his face clearly—at least, that’s what I told myself.

But I remembered his eyes.

Burning. Cold. Alive.

And the worst part?

I kept seeing them even when I blinked.

Around noon, I stepped outside to take out the trash. Lana called after me, “Don’t get kidn*pped!”

I tried to laugh, but it sounded wrong.

The alley behind the café was too familiar. Too dark. My steps slowed near the dumpster. My breath caught.

There was no body here. No blood. No shadowed man with a gun. But the memory hit me so hard, I had to grab the wall for balance.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second.

When I opened them, I swore I saw a black car parked across the street.

Same shape. Same tint. Too clean.

It could’ve been anyone’s. It probably was anyone’s.

But my hands still trembled as I walked back inside.

Something wasn’t right. I could feel it. Like the air had shifted. Like the rules had changed.

I didn’t know his name.

I didn’t know what kind of world I’d glimpsed through that alley c***k.

But I knew this:

I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to.

And whoever he was…

He wasn’t going to let me forget it.

I worked the rest of the day like a ghost in my own skin. I smiled. I nodded. I said, “Have a good one!” so many times my throat went numb. But the moment my shift ended, I nearly ran out of there.

The street was darker now. The sky cloudy. The city louder somehow.

Every footstep behind me sounded like a threat.

Every parked car made me hold my breath.

When I finally reached my building, I didn’t go in right away. I turned and looked behind me. Just for a second.

No one was there.

But… there was. I felt it.

The kind of silence that buzzes in your bones. The kind that tells you you’re not as alone as you think.

I pushed through the front door and climbed the stairs two at a time, fingers fumbling with my keys like I’d never used them before.

Inside, I locked the door. Bolted it. Double-checked the windows. Drew the curtains. Again.

And just as I was about to head to the bathroom, I saw something on the floor.

A piece of paper.

Folded. Plain. Sitting right in front of the door.

I hadn’t seen it when I walked in. I would’ve seen it. I was looking. I was.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

No name.

No signature.

Just four words, scrawled in neat, sharp handwriting:

“You should’ve stayed quiet.”

My heart stopped.

No.

No, no, no.

I turned, scanned the apartment. My walls. My locked windows. Nothing broken. No forced entry.

How did it get in here?

I stood frozen, that little slip of paper burning in my hand like it was dipped in poison.

I should’ve screamed. Called someone. Ran.

But all I did was stand there—trapped in silence—as one thought pounded like a war drum in my head:

He already found me.