Chapter 4
COLTON
L uella thought Meadowgrove would keep her safe and that the town’s silence could cover her tracks. But she underestimated me, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I always find what belongs to me.
She belongs to me.
The rose is a black hole in the beige hallway carpet, a darkness in the light. It echoes the darkness blooming within me, a darkness I now understand is linked to her.
I stand hidden in the shadows across the hallway, watching as she steps out, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and…is it excitement? The sight of her up close sends a jolt of possessiveness through me, a fierce, primal urge to pull her back into the safety of her apartment, to lock the door and keep the world out. To keep her mine. I haven’t been this close to her in over a year. Blood runs straight to my dick as her chest heaves, and I remember the noises she made just for me.
Fuck.
She looks unnerved, yet unafraid.
Good.
She knows it’s me.
But I stay hidden, my presence silent. I need to see her like this, unguarded, unfazed by my gaze. I need to understand the woman she has become in my absence, the woman who haunts my dreams, the woman who holds the key to the fractured pieces of my soul.
Her movements are hesitant, as if she senses my presence. A small smile plays on my lips. She can sense me. Even now, separated by distance and shadows, she feels the pull, the invisible cord that binds us together.
I watch as she steps out into the hallway, her eyes scanning the shadows, searching. I can almost hear the frantic beat of her heart, mirroring my own. For a moment, it’s like our gaze’s lock, and I see something in her eyes, a spark of something dark and dangerous that mimics my own.
Then, she turns and walks away, hugging her coat for warmth. I let her go, for now, enjoying the game of cat and mouse we have going on. The black rose remains on the floor, dismissed by her.
I try not to be too pissed off, but that’s Luella for you. Most women would love roses being delivered to their door, but not Luella.
Black ones? In the dead of night? Hardly, the voices scoff.
The therapist’s words echo in my mind: “ What does Luella want? What does she need?”
I know the answer now. She needs me . Whether she realizes it or not, she needs the darkness, the intensity, the obsession that only I can provide. She needs the monster. And I am more than willing to oblige.
I retrieve the rose, its velvety petals cool against my skin, and I admire it, its deep, dark petals keeping their secrets. Just like Luella, its beauty is both striking and enigmatic, capturing your attention until you’re unable to escape...until you don’t want to. I place the rose back in its place and sigh, looking down the hallway where Luella’s faint fragrance lingers, beckoning me to follow her. To claim her. I have to, I’ve got no choice. It’s pitch black out there; who knows what monsters could be lurking in the shadows? My lips twitch.
There’s about to be one more.
I step outside and inhale the chilly air, scanning the sidewalk as I do. I know her route off by heart because she often wakes up in the middle of the night and goes for walks. It’s annoying because it means I have to follow her to make sure no one else does. I’ve been watching her for so long now, it’s a relief to see she doesn’t ever deviate from her routine, but then that pisses me off too, because what if someone did want to take her? They’d know exactly when and how to do it.
The way she moves now, with that new confidence in her step…it’s like she’s learned to hold her head high, no longer hiding in her own shadow. Half of me is proud, but the other half wants to remind her who she belongs to.
She works in a little cafe, serving coffee to locals who have no idea what lurks beneath her perfect exterior. I’ve watched her there too, the way she moves with practiced grace. She’s perfected that fake smile, the one she uses with strangers and customers. But it’s different now—it’s like she’s wiped every trace of me from her expression. She used to look at me with fire in her eyes, a spark that told me she saw every jagged piece of my soul. Now she looks past me, even when she senses I’m near. It feels like rejection, like betrayal, and I fucking hate that it bothers me this much.
She doesn’t want you, does she?
I grit my teeth and ignore the needling voice, knowing to snap at it would only give away my position to Luella, and we can’t have that.
There was a time she used to come to me willingly, a time when she sought out my darkness as if it was a refuge. I remember the way her breath would hitch, her hands clinging to me like I was her anchor. Now, she keeps me at a distance, a calculated wall between us. It’s maddening. I want to tear down every barrier she’s built, make her remember what it felt like to need me, to ache for my touch.
My footsteps are silent as I trail her, keeping to the deeper shadows cast by the streetlights. She’s heading toward the park—always the fucking park at this hour. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to grab her and drag her back to safety. Doesn’t she understand how vulnerable she is out here?
But then again, maybe she does.
Maybe that’s exactly why she does it.
My nails press into my palm. I welcome the sting—it keeps me focused, keeps the rage at bay. The rage that’s been building since she left, since she thought she could just walk away from what we are.
What we’ve always been.
A car passes by, its headlights sweeping across the street, and I melt deeper into the darkness. Luella doesn’t even flinch at the sound, just keeps walking with that determined stride of hers. She’s always been fearless—or maybe just reckless. It’s one of the things that drew me to her in the first place.
That, and the darkness I saw behind those innocent eyes.
The park entrance looms ahead, the iron gates welcoming us. My pulse quickens.
Soon.
Soon she’ll understand that running was pointless, that distance means nothing when you’re bound by something deeper than flesh and blood.
Soon she’ll remember who she belongs to .
A soft breeze rustles through the trees as she enters the park, and I follow, keeping my distance. The moonlight catches her hair, creating a silver halo that makes my chest ache. I’m glad she kept it light. She looks ethereal, untouchable…but I know better. I’ve touched every inch of her, marked her as mine in ways that time can’t erase.
The park is deserted, as it always is at this hour. Just the two of us and the shadows, dancing our familiar dance. She takes her usual path, the one that winds past the old fountain. Its waters are still tonight, reflecting the moon like a dark mirror. Everything is still, waiting, holding its breath.
I could end this chase now—step out of the shadows and face her, watch those eyes widen in recognition. But timing is everything, and I’m a patient man. Well, patient enough.
My nails dig deeper into my palm as she pauses at the fountain. She trails her fingers through the water, creating ripples that distort her reflection. A drop of water trails down her wrist, vanishing beneath her sleeve.
That’s when I notice she’s trembling. Not from fear—I know her fear intimately—but from something else. Anticipation, maybe. Or recognition. She knows I’m here and can feel me watching. Her body has always been honest, even when her words weren’t.
“Colton,” she whispers, so soft it could be the wind.
But I hear it. I always hear her.
And now the game changes.
A shiver runs through me at the sound of my name on her lips. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve heard her say it. That voice—it sets my blood on fire.
I remain still, letting the shadows cloak me as she turns, scanning the darkness. Her eyes pass over my hiding spot once, twice, searching. Always searching. But I won’t give her what she wants. Not yet.
My nails break the skin on my palms, but I don’t ease off. The pain grounds me, keeps me from rushing forward and claiming what’s mine. Because that’s what she expects: my impulsiveness, my rage, my need. But I’m not that man anymore. I’m something worse.
Something better.
She takes a step away from the fountain, her boots crunching on gravel. “I know you’re there,” she calls out, voice stronger now. Challenging. “You always are.”
My lips curl into a smile. She’s right; I am always there. I’m the ghost she can’t shake, the demon she can’t exorcize.
The monster she created. All this time, I worried it was my father who made me who I am, but it’s not just him. She made me crave her.
She starts walking again, faster now, but her path is erratic. She’s breaking her routine, trying to throw me off. Stupid girl. Doesn’t she know? I’ve memorized every possible route she could take, every hidden path and darkened corner. There’s nowhere in this park she can go that I haven’t already been.
The moonlight catches something in her hand—metal, glinting. A knife? Christ, she’s actually carrying protection now. The thought makes me want to laugh. As if any weapon could keep her safe from what’s coming.
From what’s already here.