Ariana didn't sleep that night.
The photo lay face-down on her nightstand, but its imprint stayed burned in her mind. Her own image, captured in stillness, framed in the glow of her bedroom light. It wasn't just invasive—it was intimate. Someone had been watching her from the shadows, close enough to see the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers tucked beneath her chin when she read. Close enough to know her.
Her skin crawled with the weight of unseen eyes.
She clutched the blanket tighter around her and stared into the darkness. Every creak of the building felt louder. Every shadow seemed to stretch closer. She wanted to scream, but who would listen?
She hadn't called the police.
A part of her, the part that still fought to trust again, whispered that it was nothing—that maybe it was some sick joke, a mistake. But the truth bloomed like a bruise in her chest.
This wasn't random.
Whoever left that photo knew her.
She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until sunlight filtered through the blinds. Groggy and disoriented, she peeled herself off the couch. The photo was still on the nightstand. Still proof. Still a threat.
Her first stop that morning was the building's front desk.
"Have there been any visitors logged under my name?" she asked the doorman, a middle-aged man with a tired smile and thick glasses.
He checked the logbook. "No, ma'am. Nothing unusual. Everything alright?"
"Yeah," she lied. "Just... paranoid, I guess."
She forced a smile and left, gripping her bag with white-knuckled fingers. Every step outside felt exposed. She couldn't tell if it was instinct or irrational fear, but she knew one thing:
She wasn't safe.
—
Brandon stood on the balcony of an old stone building downtown, dressed in black slacks and a dark gray shirt that clung to his frame. The city thrived beneath him, unaware of the predator watching from above.
He'd seen her reaction to the photo.
It hurt more than he expected.
He wasn't trying to scare her. He just wanted her attention. To remind her that someone was watching. That she wasn't alone.
He could've sent flowers. A letter. But that wasn't him.
He didn't play soft.
She needed to know that the world around her was dangerous, that she'd become a target without even realizing it.
And that he was the only one who could protect her.
His phone buzzed.
"She went to the front desk," his man reported. "Asking questions. She's spooked."
"Good," Brandon muttered. "Keep the perimeter tight. No mistakes."
"Yes, sir."
Brandon ended the call and stepped back into his office, where a map of the city was pinned across one wall. Red pins marked territories, safehouses, rival operations.
One pin, gold and solitary, marked her apartment.
His obsession wasn't temporary.
This was long-term.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and poured himself a drink. He had enemies everywhere—men who would destroy Ariana just to get to him. That thought alone sent a cold rage through his veins.
If they ever touched her—
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
The next steps were already forming.
It was time for Ariana to meet him.
—
Ariana sat in the back of a small cafe, sipping lukewarm coffee and scrolling through her phone without seeing the screen. She had canceled her shift at the bookstore. She didn't feel safe being surrounded by strangers. Not right now.
A man entered.
Tall. Sharp. Confident in the way he moved.
Her eyes followed him—until she realized he wasn't looking around like most people do when entering a crowded room.
He looked straight at her.
Panic stabbed through her chest.
But then he passed her table without a second glance, heading for the counter.
She let out a shaky breath and buried her face in her hands.
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself.
When she finally looked up again, there was an envelope on her table.
She hadn't seen anyone place it there.
Her fingers hesitated before picking it up. This one wasn't sealed. No name, no handwriting. Just a single piece of paper inside.
A message, typed in bold black letters.
You're not alone.
That was it.
No threats. No demands.
But it chilled her more than the photo.
Whoever he was, he was close.
Close enough to touch her.
She shoved the envelope into her bag and left the cafe, heart pounding. She didn't notice the black car across the street, engine still running, windows tinted too dark to see inside.
Inside, Brandon watched her leave.
She was frightened. Good. Fear would keep her alert. And soon, fear would turn to curiosity.
She'd start asking questions.
And when she came looking for answers, he'd be ready.
He wasn't going to wait much longer.
He wanted her.
And what Brandon Marshall wanted, he always took.