He clenched the note in his fist, crushed it with all the restraint of a man teetering on the edge of madness. His jaw twitched. His blood boiled. His reflection in the glass showed a man haunted—not just by a ghost, but by a woman who wore the ghost like perfume.
Catherine. Sweet. Smart. Chaotic. Cunning.
Her voice haunted him. Her rejection echoed louder than his own heartbeat.
She didn’t want his coffee. She didn’t want him.
She didn’t even look impressed with the way his coat swayed in the wind like a K-drama villain.
She smiled and laughed like she was untouchable. Like he was the joke.
Worse—she was playing him. Just like Leon.
And so, Alec plotted. With every passing day, he found himself slipping deeper into his own rage, concocting plans to kill him again and again and clai
