Adeline's pov
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My heart was still racing.
I could feel it pounding against my ribs like it wanted to break free. The alley was too quiet now, the silence louder than the scuffle that had just ended. The man who saved me… he was gone. Just like that.
But I couldn't stop staring at where he had stood.
His mask had hidden most of his face, but something about his presence—his movements, the way he fought like it was personal—felt... intense
He knew what he was doing , I'm glad he wasn't hurt , I wanted to thank him .
I sank to the cold pavement, hugging my knees. My purse was ripped, my knees scraped, and my pride shattered. But I was safe. Only because of him.
Who was he?
And why didn't he let me thank him ?
I pressed my forehead to my knees, willing the adrenaline to fade, but it didn't. I should've called someone. The police. A friend. Anyone.
But I sat there frozen, shaken from the attack..... To the way he fought
He hadn't waited for thanks. He hadn't spoken, really. He'd just… watched me, like I was something fragile. Breakable. And the way he stepped between me and those men—like I was his to protect.
It made my skin burn in a way I didn't understand.
I stood slowly, brushing dirt from my coat, and limped toward the street. My legs felt numb. My mind even more so. Questions swirled like a storm, but none of them had answer . Stepping out of alley , I quickened my pace home .
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The morning sun felt too bright.
I blinked against it, the light slicing through my half-drawn curtains like an accusation. My body ached in places I hadn't noticed last night. My knees were bruised, my shoulder sore where the mugger had yanked my bag. But it wasn't the pain that woke me—it was the memory.
Of him.
The man in the mask.
I'd replayed it over and over as I lay in bed, unable to sleep.
I moved slowly through my apartment, trying to shake the unease curling in my stomach that I may be attacked again . My apartment felt different today. Too quiet. Like someone had been here and left, taking all the comfort with them.
And to think of it I had been receiving strange messages lately ...was I being watched?
No. That's ridiculous.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and nearly dropped the mug when I saw it.
A single black rose on my windowsill.
No vase. No note. Just lying there like it had been *placed*—not blown by wind or carried by chance. My breath hitched. I lived on the fourth floor. No fire escape. No balcony.
How did it get there?
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I sat on the edge of my couch, the black rose lying across my palms like a threat wrapped in beauty. Every part of me screamed to call someone—anyone. The police. My landlord. My aunt. But what would I say?
"Hi, i think I'm being watched because someone dropped a black rose on my apartment window and I have been receiving strange messages*
I'd sound insane.
I stood, the rose still in my hand, and walked slowly to my dresser. I opened the bin and threw the rose inside.
For reasons I couldn't explain.
As I stepped away, my phone buzzed.
*Unknown number.*
My chest tightened. I hesitated, then opened the message.
*"You looked beautiful in the moonlight."*
That was it. Just that.
No name. No emoji. Nothing to trace.
I dropped the phone like it had burned me.
I tried texting back *who are you ? *
*Why have u sending messages? But it wasn't going through, I called the same thing happened.
My knees gave way, and I sat on the floor, breath short and shallow. Part of me screamed to do something.
But instead, I stared at the screen, rereading the message until it blurred.
Because something inside me whispered the most dangerous thing of all:
I am being watched
And worse…
*I don't know who it is , what if I'm going to be harmed or raped *
But calmed down , but with a little fear in me I thought maybe I was over reacting.
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