Ariana kept her bag clutched against her chest like a shield as she navigated the crowded subway. Her eyes scanned the faces around her—too many strangers, too many places for someone to hide. She could barely hear the conductor's voice over the roar of her pulse in her ears.
She was losing it.
She knew it. And yet, the fear was real. Tangible.
After finding the second envelope, she hadn't returned home. Instead, she'd wandered the city in a daze, trying to stay in public, trying to outpace a ghost she couldn't see.
That envelope had confirmed what her gut had been screaming since the night before.
Someone was watching her.
Someone who didn't want to hurt her.
Not yet.
But someone who wanted her to know.
She slid into a corner seat, her back to the wall of the train car. It felt a little safer that way—no one could sneak up on her. Not easily.
The man from the café hadn't been the one. She was sure of it now. This wasn't the work of some random creep. This was calculated. Controlled.
And the messages—short, simple, but effective—were laced with something even more terrifying than threat.
Intent.
Whoever he was, he knew how to keep her on edge. He wanted her to feel the silence around her, the weight of every shadow. And he was succeeding.
Her phone vibrated in her lap.
Unknown Number:
You shouldn't be on the subway.
Her breath caught.
She looked up instantly. No one was looking at her. No one seemed out of place.
Another message followed.
It's not safe. Go home.
Hands trembling, she stood.
The doors slid open and she stepped out onto the next platform, heart racing, eyes wide. The air down here was cooler, but it offered no comfort. The message wasn't a suggestion.
It was a warning.
And deep down, she didn't doubt the sincerity.
---
Brandon watched her exit the train with a bitter smile tugging at the edge of his lips. She was learning. Fast.
She didn't argue with his message. Didn't question its source. That meant she believed it.
That meant she was starting to trust the voice in the dark.
"She's off the train," one of his men said through the comm.
"I know," Brandon replied, watching her on the screen. "Keep your distance. I'll handle it from here."
He was done waiting behind walls and tinted glass.
It was time.
He slipped into a black coat, pulled on gloves, and exited the old warehouse where his private surveillance center buzzed with quiet, constant life. Every screen, every angle, every camera was focused on her.
She had become his world.
And now, he was stepping into hers.
---
Ariana's phone buzzed again as she exited the station and stepped out into the crisp evening air.
Unknown Number:
Left on 5th. Don't stop walking.
She froze.
Another message hit her phone instantly.
Now.
Her body moved before her mind caught up.
She turned left on 5th Avenue, weaving between pedestrians, pulse thudding with each step. Her hands tightened around her phone.
Was she insane for listening?
Probably.
But something about the messages made her obey. Not out of fear.
Out of instinct.
Like somehow, deep down, she knew this person wasn't going to hurt her.
At least not yet.
She reached the crosswalk, waiting as cars passed in waves of horns and growls. That's when she felt it.
A presence behind her. Closer than comfort.
A whisper of breath.
Then a voice—low, gravel-rich, and calm.
"I told you not to ride the subway."
She turned so fast she nearly stumbled.
He caught her.
Strong hands gripped her elbows, steadying her.
She looked up—and her breath caught.
He was tall. Broad. Dressed in black. His features were carved sharp, eyes a shade of steel that froze her in place. There was something about him—danger, yes, but something else too.
Familiarity.
Recognition.
Even though she knew she'd never seen him before.
"Who are you?" she managed, her voice hoarse.
He let go of her slowly, hands lingering a second too long. "A friend."
"You've been watching me."
He didn't deny it.
"Why?"
Brandon tilted his head slightly, considering her. "Because you needed me to."
"That doesn't answer the question."
His smile was faint, almost sad. "It's the only one you're getting tonight."
She opened her mouth to protest, but something in his eyes silenced her. Not fear.
Power.
He didn't just expect obedience—he demanded it.
And what frightened her more than anything was the way a part of her wanted to give it to him.
She backed up, putting space between them. "This is insane."
"I know."
"I should call the cops."
He took a slow step toward her. "And tell them what? That a man told you not to take the subway and then made sure you didn't?"
"You left a photo in my apartment!"
"No," he said. "I left a warning."
She faltered.
"I'm not your enemy, Ariana."
"You don't even know me."
"I know everything."
The weight of his words landed like a punch. "That doesn't make you safe. That makes you sick."
He didn't flinch. "Maybe. But I'm still the only one who's been keeping you alive."
A silence stretched between them.
A car honked in the distance. A dog barked. A couple laughed as they passed, oblivious to the storm building on the sidewalk.
She took a shaky breath. "What do you want from me?"
Brandon stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Everything."