Page 2 of Monsters Wear Crowns
A message.
A single breath escaped me, too loud in the quiet. Then, just as silently as he’d come, he turned. Stepped back into the shadows.
And was gone.
I stood frozen, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I didn’t call security. I didn’t fling the door open. Instead, I moved on autopilot, grabbing my phone from the counter and clutching it tight. If he rang the bell again, I’d call.
But he didn’t.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the city beyond my windows. I exhaled sharply and forced myself to move, sinking back onto the couch and curling my legs beneath me. The whiskey burned as I swallowed the rest of it in one gulp.
It wasnothing.
It had to be nothing.
But as I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, the weight of his presence still lingered in the pit of my stomach. I had spent years convincing myself I was in control. Untouchable.
Tonight, I wasn’t so sure.
***
Since the night he showed up uninvited at my door, I’d been seeing him fuckingeverywhere. At first, I told myself it was my imagination. A trick of the light, a shadow where no one stood. But then it happened again. And again.
The first time was two days later. I’d been restless and unfocused, my mind still tangled up in the stranger with the unknown eyes and the wicked mouth. I needed air. Clarity.
The balcony of my penthouse offered a perfect view of the city–a glittering, restless sprawl of lights and life. The warm summer breeze brushed against my skin, carrying the scent of jasmine and the rich, savory aroma of the restaurants below. It should’ve been peaceful, but my mind wouldn’t settle.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who got distracted easily, as my work demanded focus, and I’d always been damn good at delivering. But lately, my thoughts kept slipping. Kept drifting back tohim.
Being powerful had its advantages. I knew how to wield a knife and a gun just as well as a venomous remark. I didn’t scare easily. But I’d never had a fuckingstalkerbefore…and the feeling it stirred in me was anything but fear.
If I were being stupidly honest, I found it fascinating. My favorite books had men like him. Dark, obsessive figures who crept through the shadows in pursuit of a beautiful woman. And now it seemed I had my own stranger.
I didn’t even know what he looked like under that hood, and maybe that made it worse. Or better. The anonymity only sharpened the thrill. I sighed, brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, and let my gaze wander down to the street below.
And then I froze.
Holy fuck.
He was there.
Far below, on the opposite side of the street, leaned against a lamppost like he belonged there. A black hoodie drawn low over his face, his posture easy and casual, but there was nothing relaxed about the way he watched me. Even from that distance, I could feel his heavy gaze. My stomach dipped, my pulse kicking hard against my throat.
I told myself it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be, right?
But the next night, I saw him again. Closer this time. Standing on the edge of the park across from Sinclair Solutions. Just out of the streetlights’ reach, his face was in shadow, but I knew. Iknewit was him.
And then he was there when I left work, at the end of the street. The glint of his watch caught the light, and he stood completely still like a panther watching his prey.
He never approached or spoke.
By the fifth sighting, my nerves were frayed and raw. I stopped sleeping well. Every creak and shift in my apartment made me sit up, my heart hammering. I kept the curtains drawn, but Ifelthim out there–always just beyond my vision.
I hadn’t told my best friend. Not yet. Maybe because I knew what she’d say–that I should call security, the police, someone. But there was no proof, no evidence beyond my own paranoia. And a part of me…a very dark, very risky part…didn’t want him to stop.
Every time I saw him, my heart stuttered, and my skin burned.
I was losing my fucking mind.
