Page 10 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
She sat in her dark apartment, alone with what she'd witnessed, and she kept my secret.
Clever girl.
She understands how the world works. She knows that a florist's word means nothing against a billionaire's reputation. She knows that coming forward would destroy her, not me. She's weighed the options and found them wanting. Or perhaps it's something else. Perhaps she's keeping quiet for reasons that have nothing to do with practicality.
Perhaps some part of her doesn't want me caught.
The dahlia sits in a glass of water on my nightstand. Not the one I left for her—that one is on her doorstep now, or in her hands, or in a vase on her kitchen table. This is a different bloom, one I kept for myself. One she touched while she wasarranging them, her fingers careful and tender, treating each petal like it mattered.
I picked it up after she fled. Pressed it to my face. Breathed in the scent of her, faint beneath the flower's own perfume.
I'm losing my mind,I think.This is what madness feels like.
But I don't feel mad. I feel focused. Clear. For the first time in months, the static in my head has organized itself into a single, coherent signal.
Her. Her. Her.
Leaving the dahlia on her doorstep was a risk. Josiah would be furious if he knew—it's exactly the kind of impulsive gesture he's always warning me against.Don't play with your food, Gabriel. Don't leave traces. Don't let sentiment compromise security.But it wasn't sentiment. It was communication.
I drove to her apartment in the dark hours of the morning, when the streets were empty, and the city was holding its breath between night and day. I parked a block away and walked, my footsteps silent on the pavement. Her building is modest. Old brick, iron fire escapes, a front door with a lock that wouldn't stop a determined child. She lives on the third floor. I know which window is hers—I've stood outside it before, looking up at the light, imagining her moving through her small rooms.
The light was off, but I knew she wasn't sleeping. She was sitting in the dark, I was certain of it. Waiting. Listening. Jumping at every sound. Thinking about me.
I selected the dahlia from the ones I'd taken from the ballroom. One of hers, from her arrangements—I wanted herto recognize it. To understand that I'd been watching her work, that I'd noticed her, that my attention predated her witnessing anything. I placed it on her doorstep with care. Centered it precisely. Made sure it would be the first thing she saw when she opened her door.
Then I stood there for a long moment, looking up at her dark window.
I see you,I thought.I know where you live. I was here while you were afraid.
It wasn't a threat. Or not only a threat.
It was an introduction.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in."
Josiah enters, already dressed for the day, his expression carefully neutral. He's the middle brother, the pragmatic one, the one who sees problems before they form. Right now, he's looking at me like I'm a problem.
"You didn't sleep," he says.
"I rarely do after."
"After a kill, yes. But usually you're calmer." He moves to the window, looks out at the grounds. "You seem restless."
"I'm fine."
"You were distracted last night. During the gala. I noticed you watching someone."
I keep my expression blank. "I watch a lot of people. It's a party. That's what one does."
"The florist."
The word hangs between us. Josiah turns to face me, and I see the concern in his eyes—concern and something sharper. Suspicion.
"She was doing good work," I say. "The arrangements were impressive."
"She was supposed to leave before the guests arrived."
