The note was waiting for her.
Eve saw it the moment she stepped inside her apartment—a single black envelope on the kitchen counter, placed carefully, deliberately. Like a gift.
Her breath stilled.
The door had been locked. She had checked twice before leaving for work. There was no sign of a break-in. And yet… someone had been here.
A chill ran down her spine. The air felt heavier, charged with something invisible but undeniable. The kind of weight that came from being watched.
She hesitated before stepping forward, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor. Every instinct told her to turn around, walk right back out, but she forced herself to move, her fingers trembling as she reached for the envelope.
Thick paper. No stamp, no return address. Just her name in bold, sharp ink.
Her heart pounded as she slid a nail beneath the seal, peeling it open with slow, deliberate movements. The card inside was smooth, expensive. The kind of thing you send when you want someone to keep it.
The handwriting was precise. Elegant. But it was the words that made her stomach drop.
You are more beautiful when you don’t know you’re being watched.
Did you feel me tonight? Standing in the dark, just beyond your reach?
I wonder what you would have done if you had.
A shiver crawled over her skin. Her fingers tightened around the card as she forced herself to breathe.
No. No, this had to be a joke.
Someone from the gallery messing with her. A sick prank.
Except it didn’t feel like a joke.
It felt like a promise.
The air in the apartment was wrong. She could still smell her lavender candles from the night before, the faint trace of paint and coffee, but there was something else now, something new.
A scent she didn’t recognize.
Something masculine.
The realization hit her like a punch. She dropped the card as her pulse spiked, her mind scrambling to make sense of it. Someone had been in her home. Not just in her home, but close enough to see her. Close enough to watch.
Her breath turned shallow. She grabbed her phone, fingers unsteady as she scrolled to the police station’s number.
Before she could press call, her screen lit up.
A new text.
Unknown Number: Careful, little rabbit.
Unknown Number: I don’t like sharing you.
A cold rush of adrenaline surged through her veins.
Her hands tightened around the phone. This wasn’t happening.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Who the fuck is this?
The reply came instantly.
Unknown Number: I’m the only one who knows what you sound like when you sleep.
The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the counter.
Her stomach twisted. The text was impossible. It had to be.
Except last night, she’d had a dream.
A shadow standing at the foot of her bed. A whisper of her name. The feeling of breath against her skin.
A nightmare.
Except now… she wasn’t so sure.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump.
Her breath hitched as she spun toward it, her pulse hammering. For a long, horrible moment, she just stood there, frozen, listening to the silence that followed.
Another knock. Slower this time. More deliberate.
She forced herself forward, closing the distance in a few shaky steps before pressing her eye to the peephole.
Her breath caught.
A man stood on the other side. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. He wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t shifting his weight. He just stood there, perfectly still.
Waiting.
She should have asked who it was. Should have called the cops.
But she didn’t need to ask.
She already knew.
Her fingers curled around the doorknob, her pulse a wild thing in her throat.
Adrian.
He looked straight into the peephole, as if he knew she was watching.
And then he smiled.
