Chapter Six — The Shadow & The Other Woman.
1120 Words
At first, Zoey thought she was imagining it.
The man in the charcoal coat on the other side of the street. The way he looked up just as she stepped out of the gallery. The way his phone rose—maybe taking a picture?—before he disappeared into the crowd like he’d never been there.
Paranoia, she told herself.
But by the third time it happened—in front of her favorite deli, then outside her studio—her nerves started to buzz.
She hadn’t heard from Damien in days. No texts. No cryptic messages. No gallery invites. Just a clean silence, as if their kiss, his warmth, the way he said I want to understand you had all been a fever dream.
Zoey was used to distance.
But not like this.
Not with that look he gave her before the walls went back up.
And now?
Now someone was watching.
She told herself she was overreacting. Maybe it was just some security guy. Maybe Damien sent someone to “check in” without actually checking in. God, what a power move that would be.
Still, it felt wrong.
She entered the studio and locked the door behind her for the first time ever.
Maya was waiting inside, feet on the couch, scrolling through her phone. “Okay, so you’re officially weirding me out.”
Zoey tossed her coat aside. “What?”
“You’re jumpy. You keep looking out the window. And you haven’t mentioned Tall, Dark, and Billionaire once. Which means either the s*x was amazing or he ghosted you like a coward.”
Zoey sat, running a hand through her curls. “We didn’t sleep together.”
Maya blinked. “Wait, what?”
“We kissed. And then he kissed me again. And then… nothing.”
She paused. “Actually, not nothing. Just—silence.”
Maya’s voice dropped. “Did something happen?”
Zoey hesitated. Then: “I think someone’s following me.”
Maya froze. “You think?”
Zoey nodded. “I’ve seen the same guy three times in two days. Dark coat. Always standing still. Always watching. I thought maybe it was security, but…”
“But now you think it’s something else,” Maya finished for her.
Zoey swallowed. “Or someone else.”
Maya grabbed her phone. “We’re calling him.”
“No,” Zoey said quickly. “He’s the one who disappeared. I’m not giving him more of my power.”
Maya gave her a hard look. “Zoey, this isn’t just heartbreak. This could be dangerous.”
Zoey looked down at her hands—paint-streaked, trembling just slightly.
She didn’t want to believe it.
But something had changed since that night.
And the shadows were getting closer.
Zoey wasn’t easily shaken.
She’d been broke, rejected, overlooked, and underestimated more times than she could count. She’d painted murals with freezing fingers and sold her art for barely enough to eat. And yet—this?
This woman’s presence?
It knocked something loose in her chest.
She noticed her the moment she entered the café.
A tall, terrifyingly poised blonde in a steel-blue trench coat. She didn’t order anything. Just walked in like she owned the air and took a seat in the far booth… facing Zoey.
Their eyes met.
That’s when the discomfort bloomed.
Zoey glanced around. The café was mostly empty. A barista tapped quietly at the register. No one else paid attention.
But this woman? She hadn’t looked away. Not once.
Zoey sipped her coffee, pretending to scroll through her phone, heart beating faster than it should. Just as she was about to stand and leave—
The woman rose, walked over in slow, unhurried steps, and slid gracefully into the chair across from her.
“Zoey Quinn,” she said, smiling like the edge of a blade. “Finally.”
Zoey blinked. “Do I… know you?”
“No,” the woman said, voice cool as glass. “But I know you. And I’ve been dying to meet the girl who thinks she’s different.”
Zoey sat back. “Excuse me?”
The woman removed her gloves one finger at a time, methodical. Elegant. “You’ve been spending time with Damien Cross. I wanted to meet the woman who thinks she’s gotten close.”
The air in Zoey’s lungs thinned. “And you are?”
“Seraphine Laurent.”
The name hit like a slap.
Zoey remembered it now—from the press clippings, from Damien’s world. The name whispered beside his in headlines, in scandal. The ex.
The only ex anyone ever mentioned.
Zoey’s voice hardened. “If you came here to warn me off like some jealous ex-girlfriend cliché, save your breath.”
Seraphine laughed. It wasn’t bitter—it was amused. Like a lion watching prey snarl.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m not jealous,” she said. “I’m… experienced. And you’re standing in front of a fire you don’t understand.”
Zoey’s heart thudded. “I’m not scared of fire.”
“You should be,” Seraphine replied, leaning in. “Because Damien Cross only burns. He doesn’t build. He doesn’t fix. He consumes.”
Zoey said nothing.
Seraphine pulled out her phone and set it on the table. A photo was already loaded on the screen. A younger Damien—hair slightly longer, face colder—standing with Seraphine in front of the Cross Industries building. Their hands were clasped. Smiling for the press.
“You think I’m the one who broke him?” she asked softly. “He broke himself. I just held the mirror.”
Zoey looked away. “You came here to intimidate me.”
“No. I came to tell you what Damien won’t. Because unlike him, I believe you should know what you’re getting into before you’re in too deep.”
“I’m already in,” Zoey whispered, surprising herself.
Seraphine’s expression didn’t change. “Then you should know… the more you mean to him, the more dangerous things get. Not just for you. For him.”
Zoey narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Ask him,” Seraphine said, rising slowly. “But don’t expect the truth. Power protects itself, Zoey. Even from love.”
With that, she slid on her sunglasses and walked out, her heels clicking like a countdown.
Zoey sat frozen, her coffee untouched. The world around her kept moving, but her mind spun in place.
She thought of Damien’s silence. His eyes. His hesitation.
She thought of the man who kissed her like she was something rare—and walked away like she was something fragile.
And for the first time, she wondered…
What is Damien Cross really hiding.
- Writer
