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You're not supposed to fall in love with the man who ruins your life.
The rain had come fast—typical for this part of the city. One minute the sky was a dull gray smear, and the next, it was pouring. Aria Moreau pulled the hood of her blazer over her head and kept walking, her shoes slapping against the soaked sidewalk.
It was a longer route home, the alley behind the cathedral and the old theater, but it was quiet. No one ever went that way anymore.
No one except her.
And him.
Aria didn't see him at first. She only heard it—a pop, sharp and final, too loud to be thunder. She stopped mid-step, heart suddenly wild. Her instinct told her to run. But then she saw them.
Three men. One on his knees, gasping. Another standing, aiming a gun. And a third—
Leaning against the brick wall like he had all the time in the world.
He was dressed in black. Black coat, black gloves, black eyes.
Lucian Devereux.
She didn't know his name yet, but she would. She'd taste it like poison on her lips by the time this was over.
His head turned slowly, eyes catching hers in the shadows.
She had made a sound. A breath. A mistake.
The man on the wall stared at her like she wasn't real. Like he was deciding what kind of ghost she would become.
Then he smiled.
He didn't look surprised.
Not like the man with the gun, who cursed and turned sharply in her direction.
Not like the man on the ground, who whimpered something she couldn't understand before slumping sideways, blood seeping like ink into the wet pavement.
But him—the one in the coat—he only stared. Calm. Composed. Curious.
Aria's breath hitched.
She should have run. Turned, screamed, disappeared. But her feet stayed rooted. Her body forgot how to obey.
He took a step forward.
Even through the downpour, even across the distance, she could feel the shift—like gravity realigning to pull her toward him.
"Boss?" the gunman asked, uncertain. His voice echoed against the alley walls, sharp and high-pitched.
Lucian—she didn't know his name, not yet—lifted a hand, silencing him.
And then, he spoke.
"She saw," he said softly. His voice was like smoke—low, rough around the edges, but strangely refined. "Didn't you, little ghost?"
Aria's mouth opened. No sound came out.
He stepped forward again.
She stepped back.
Another. And another. He didn't rush. He didn't need to. There was no panic in him. Just something else—something colder. Something that watched her like a puzzle he'd just found and decided to solve.
When her heel hit a loose brick and she stumbled, his mouth curved.
Not a smile.
A warning.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
Her voice finally broke through. Quiet. Frantic. "I didn't see anything."
He tilted his head. "Liar."
It wasn't an accusation. Just a fact.
Lightning flashed overhead. Aria flinched. And in that half-second of brightness, she saw it—his face, clearly this time. The high cheekbones. The cut of his jaw. The way his eyes didn't soften, not even a fraction.
Beautiful.
But not kind.
He could've ended her right there.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stepped back.
"Go home, Aria," he said.
Her stomach dropped.
He knows my name.
The breath left her lungs in a quiet choke.
He wasn't asking. He wasn't guessing. He knew.
Aria took a step back. Then another. Her legs moved before her brain caught up, slipping through the alley's edge like a shadow. She didn't dare turn her back to him—not until she reached the main street, until headlights blurred past and the normal sounds of the city came crashing in.
Her pulse was still hammering when she finally turned and ran.
Rain soaked her skirt, clung to her tights, flattened her hair against her neck. But she didn't stop. Not until the sharp brick edge of her apartment building came into view.
Five floors up, no elevator. The door groaned as she pushed it open, the familiar smell of old wood and cheap detergent hitting her like a lifeline. She climbed the stairs two at a time.
Her hand shook as she locked the door behind her.
Deadbolt. Chain. Twist.
She leaned against it, her breath ragged, her blazer dripping onto the floor.
He knew her name.
She pressed her fingers to her lips like that would help hold everything in.
The blood. The voice. The smile.
She told herself it didn't mean anything. That maybe he was bluffing. Maybe someone had said it. Maybe—
Her phone buzzed.
She flinched so hard it nearly hit the floor.
A message.
No contact name. Just a number she didn't recognize.
Her fingers hesitated, hovered. Then tapped it open.
"You shouldn't walk alone."
No punctuation. No emoji. No threat.
But her heart cracked like glass anyway.
Absolutely—let's add just a bit more tension and close out Chapter One with an eerie, lingering chill. Continuing from the moment Aria gets the message:
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She dropped the phone.
It hit the floor with a soft clack, screen lighting up the dim apartment in sharp white.
She didn't pick it up.
Instead, she moved to the window. Her fingers parted the curtain just enough to see the street below. The headlights of a passing car swept through the alleyway—and then—
Nothing.
No one.
But just as she let out a breath, she saw it.
A car. Black. Parked under the burnt-out streetlamp across from her building. Too still. Too quiet. It hadn't been there before.
The windows were tinted. The engine didn't make a sound. But it was there. Watching.
Just like him.
Aria stepped back, the curtain falling shut.
She locked the window even though it was already bolted. She turned off the lights. She pulled her knees to her chest and sat in the corner of her room, silent and small.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that.
Long enough for the storm to stop. Long enough for the city to fall asleep. Long enough for a second message to appear, even though she didn't look at it until morning.
"We'll talk soon."
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End of Chapter One