Chapter 4 - Ghosts of the Night
1165 Words
Anna’s apartment was as cold and unwelcoming as it had been that morning, but at least it was hers. She tossed her bag onto the tiny dining table and leaned against the door, her heart still pounding from the unexpected confrontation with Damien.
What the hell was that?
His words lingered in her mind. You don’t seem like a killer.
She had spent years trying to shut out the voices of judgment, the whispers that followed her every step. But it was different hearing it from him—from a man who looked at her with something more than just curiosity. Suspicion? Or something else entirely?
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed herself off the door and walked to the tiny kitchenette. She poured herself a glass of water, her hands trembling slightly as she took a sip. Get it together, Anna. She had enough problems to deal with—working two jobs, barely making rent, avoiding the ghosts of her past. The last thing she needed was some wealthy, arrogant stranger stirring things up.
And yet, there was something about him. Something that unsettled her.
She set the glass down, rubbing her temples. Sleep. That’s what she needed. Maybe, by morning, she could push Damien’s words out of her head and pretend none of this had happened.
Morning came too soon.
The sound of her alarm jolted her awake, and for a moment, she just lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling. Her body ached from exhaustion, her mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. But there was no time to dwell. She had a shift to get to.
Anna forced herself up and went through her usual routine—cold shower, worn clothes, quick breakfast of stale toast and instant coffee. She pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame as she stepped outside, bracing against the morning chill. The streets were already busy, people moving with purpose, lost in their own worlds.
She caught the bus, staring blankly out the window as the city blurred past. Today is just another day, she told herself. Nothing changes.
But she was wrong.
Because as soon as she stepped into the restaurant, she saw him.
Damien was sitting at a corner table, dressed in a crisp dark suit, a cup of coffee in front of him. He wasn’t looking at her, but she knew he had been waiting.
Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t in the mood for games. Taking a deep breath, she tied her apron around her waist and headed straight for the counter, ignoring the way her pulse quickened.
Magreth leaned in, whispering, “Blue-eyed devil is back.”
“I noticed,” Anna muttered, grabbing a notepad.
“Looks like he’s waiting for you,” Magreth teased, nudging her playfully. “Maybe he’s smitten.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Doubtful.”
Still, she had a job to do. Straightening her posture, she walked over to his table, keeping her expression neutral. “Here for another latte and croissants?” she asked, pen poised over the notepad.
Damien finally looked up, and for a moment, she felt caught in the intensity of his gaze. His blue eyes were unreadable, assessing her in a way that made her feel both exposed and defiant.
“Actually,” he said slowly, “I was hoping for something else.”
Anna raised an eyebrow. “We’re out of special requests.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll take whatever you recommend.”
She clenched her jaw. He was playing some kind of game, and she didn’t like it. “Fine. I’ll bring your usual.”
She turned to walk away, but his voice stopped her.
“Anna.”
She inhaled sharply before facing him again. “What?”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Do you ever wonder what really happened that night?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
A slow, cold fear trickled down her spine. She forced herself to keep her face blank, but inside, panic flared. He knows. He knows who I am.
She forced out a laugh. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy interested in bedtime horror stories.”
Damien studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Maybe not.”
She didn’t wait for him to say more. Turning on her heel, she walked back to the counter, her heart hammering in her chest. Magreth gave her a curious look but didn’t press.
Anna grabbed his coffee and pastries, bringing them to his table without another word. She wanted to be anywhere but near him, but just as she set down his plate, his fingers brushed against hers ever so slightly.
Her breath hitched.
It was the smallest touch, accidental even, but it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She pulled away quickly, her pulse erratic. Damien’s gaze lingered on her, as if he had noticed her reaction.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
She said nothing, walking away as fast as she could.
Damien watched her retreat, tapping his fingers against the table. The way she had stiffened, the flicker of fear in her eyes when he mentioned that night—it was telling.
She was hiding something.
He had been certain she was guilty. He had spent years believing it, preparing for this moment. But now, seeing the way she reacted, the way she carried herself—it didn’t match the cold, calculated murderer he had imagined.
Still, he wasn’t letting her go.
He pulled out his phone, sending a quick message.
Keep watching her. I want every detail.
As he put his phone away, his mind reeled with questions. If she truly was guilty, why did she look so lost? And if she wasn’t…
What the hell had really happened that night?
Anna barely made it through the rest of her shift. Her hands shook as she wiped down tables, her stomach twisted in knots. When her shift finally ended, she stepped outside, inhaling the cool air like it could cleanse her of the past.
But the past wasn’t done with her.
A car was parked across the street. The same sleek black car from yesterday.
Damien was leaning against it, arms crossed, watching her.
She tensed. “Are you seriously stalking me now?”
He smirked. “Maybe I just like the coffee here.”
She glared. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want from me?”
His expression shifted, something more serious flashing in his gaze. “Answers.”
Her stomach clenched. “I don’t have any.”
He pushed off the car, stepping closer. “We’ll see about that.”
She didn’t wait for him to say more. Turning on her heel, she walked away, forcing herself not to run.
But deep down, she knew.
Damien wasn’t going away.
And neither was the past.
- Writer
