12. Wraith
Chapter 12
Wraith
I ’m already watching when she wakes up.
The camera feed hums softly in front of me, green-tinted light throwing shadows across the room.
My fingers tap against the desk. A slow, steady rhythm. Waiting.
I lean in closer, eyes locked on the screen. “Come on, angel. Wake up. Look at what I left you.”
The newspaper’s already sitting at her doorstep.
Right where I made sure it would be.
Front page. Full spread.
ETHAN CROSS DEAD: Suicide or Something More?
A grainy photo of his shattered body, crumpled on the pavement like a broken doll.
No suspects. No witnesses. No answers.
Just questions that’ll never find their way back to me .
She stirs. Blinks blearily at the morning light. Shuffles toward the door, yawning into her sleeve.
I sit forward, breath slow, razor-controlled, every muscle tight.
This is it.
She opens the door.
Frowns down at the newspaper like it’s a piece of junk mail.
Scoops it up. Tucks it under her arm.
Walks back inside without even glancing at the headline.
My knuckles go white against the desk.
Still, I hold steady.
Maybe she’s not awake yet. Maybe she needs to see it laid out in front of her.
She moves to the kitchen.
Grabs a bowl.
Pours cereal.
Adds milk.
Sits at the tiny table.
The newspaper rests beside her elbow.
Close enough to bleed ink against her skin.
I grit my teeth. “Come on. Come on. Look.”
She flips it open.
Finds the front page.
Her eyes skim the headline.
Flip. Crunch. Flip. Crunch. Flip. Crunch.
She takes a bite of cereal.
Turns the page.
Another bite.
Another casual glance.
Her pinky smudges the grainy image of Ethan’s body .
She hums.
A soft, tuneless sound, like she’s thinking about laundry or grocery lists or the weather.
A low sound tears from my chest. I slam my hand flat against the desk. “No. No, no, no, no.”
My fingers clamp down around the armrest.
Jaw locking so tight my teeth ache.
Breath sharp enough to cut the air.
She didn’t even blink.
She didn’t even fucking see him.
I killed for her.
Stalked him. Stripped him down to the nothing he really was.
Made sure the last thing he felt was regret bleeding out of his body.
I crushed his skull against marble because he touched her.
I shoved him into the abyss so she’d never have to breathe the same air as him again.
And she’s sitting there.
Eating fucking cereal.
Like it never happened.
My voice scrapes out, raw and low. “You should be crying, little angel. You should be shaken. You should know you’re fucking mine.”
She finishes her cereal.
Stands.
Rinses the bowl.
Ties her hair up in a loose, messy bun.
No recognition.
No horror.
Not a fucking care in the world.
She moves through her tiny apartment getting ready for the day.
Nothing she read in the paper bothered her in the slightest.
She’s untouchable.
Unshakable.
And that makes me snap.
The door seals behind me.
Soft. Silent.
I breathe her in—lavender, vanilla, fucking sunshine bottled in human form.
I take a step forward?—
And stop.
A low growl rumbles in front of me.
The cat.
Furry little bastard.
Sitting in a ray of sunlight, ears flattened, tail flicking, eyes full of judgment.
I glare at him.
He glares back.
“Yeah, yeah. You again,” I mutter under my breath.
The cat blinks at me. Slow. Unimpressed. Like I’m the fucking entertainment for the evening.
Then he stands—fluffy tail high—strutting across the room like he owns the place.
He jumps onto the back of the couch, settles in, and starts licking his paw.
Never looking away. Never blinking .
Like I’m not even a threat. Just something he’s tolerating.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper, narrowing my eyes.
He pauses mid-lick.
Meows. Short. Smug. Knowing.
I squint at him. He squints right back.
“You think you own her, don’t you?” I mutter.
Another meow—higher, cocky.
My jaw ticks.
I lean in, hands braced on my thighs, close enough to smell the arrogance radiating off him.
“I saw you, you know,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous.
“Snuggling up to her last night. Curling into her side.
Purring like you earned that fucking spot.”
The cat blinks, slow and bored.
Tail flicking once, twice.Thumping on the couch.
I swear to god, the smug little fucker is taunting me.
I straighten slowly, leather whispering against itself, eyes still locked on him.
“You think this is your kingdom?” I ask under my breath.
A beat.
Another slow, lazy meow.
I smirk.
“Keep dreaming, furball. She was never yours to begin with.”
The cat gives a final flick of his tail before he hops off the couch—pure dismissal—saunters away, disappearing into the kitchen like he has better things to do.
I shake my head once.
Focusing.
Because the real show’s about to start.
I stop in front of the gap on the wall .
The empty space where Lily and Ethan used to smile.
I hang the frame back up.
But this time, it’s not a memory inside.
It’s a cutout from the morning paper?—
Ethan’s body, splattered across the pavement like trash someone forgot to sweep up.
I’m surprised they got away with printing that one. Worked out well for me.
I go into the bathroom and run the hot water. Waiting for the room to steam up.
Within minutes the mirror’s already starting to fog.
She wiped away the last message I left for her like it was nothing.
Let’s see what happens when another one shows up.
I watch the condensation build.
Perfect.
The mirror stares back at me.
Blank. Empty.
But not for long.
I lift a gloved finger.
Drag it across the glass.
I’M WATCHING YOU.
The letters cut through the fog in massive strokes.
Stark. Huge. Unmistakable.
A message she can’t ignore.
I step back.
Head tilted.
Breath slow and even.
Letting the message settle into the thick, heavy air.
You won’t see the paper?
You won’t see the blood I spilled for you ?
Fine.
You won’t cry for him?
You won’t tremble for me?
You’ll feel me instead.
The heat tightens around me.
The need.
The frustration.
The obsession clawing under my skin like something rabid.
I shut the water off.
And fade back into the shadows.
Her keys jingle before the front door clicks open.
I slip into the shadow between the kitchen and the hall, silent as a ghost.
And there she is.
Soft, glowing, humming under her breath like the world’s never hurt her.
She drops her bag by the door and kicks off her shoes, already moving toward the couch.
I stay hidden.
Still.
Silent.
“Where’s my sweet baby?” she sings, saccharine and light.
The cat—a gremlin in disguise—bounds into the room with a chirping meow.
She gasps like he’s some long-lost soldier returning from war.
“There you are!” she coos, scooping him up into her arms.
He purrs like a fucking motor, rubbing his smug little face under her chin.
My fists clench at my sides.
She nuzzles into his fur like he’s the only thing in the world she loves.
I watch her press her lips to his stupid head. Watch the way she closes her eyes, smiling, rocking him side to side like some greedy little prince. Like he’s her baby.
I should not be jealous.
Of a cat.
But fuck, I am.
She croons soft nonsense against his fur, a private little language I’ll never be invited into.
And I watch.
Grinding my teeth.
While the damn furball soaks it all up like a king.
I swear to God, the smug little bastard looks right at me.
Purrs louder.
Flaunting it.
I squint, watching him blink slow, lazy eyes at me like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Like he’s saying, She’s mine.
My jaw tightens.
“Oh, it’s on asshole,” I mutter low under my breath, barely audible.
The bastard glares like he heard me. Flicks his tail. Throws me one long, unimpressed stare. Then, like the smug little king he thinks he is, lifts his ass in my direction and hops out of her arms, sauntering away.
Fucking cat.
She doesn’t notice.
Doesn’t feel the war I’m waging ten feet away from her against her fucking nightmare of a cat.
She moves through the apartment with easy grace, slipping off her shoes, stretching her arms over her head until her spine cracks and pops.
Sighing with relief.
I watch every second.
Every movement.
Listen to every sound.
Breath catching slow and hard in my chest.
She doesn’t know she’s being watched.
Doesn’t know that the darkness is breathing down her neck—and choosing not to touch her.
Yet.
But soon.
She drifts into the kitchen, humming under her breath. Tosses a container of leftovers into the microwave. Taps her foot against the tile while it spins.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Completely fucking oblivious.
She eats at the counter.
Doesn’t even sit down.
Makes a cup of tea.
She wanders to the living room, trailing her fingers along the bookshelves, considering the titles before plucking one of the not-so-innocent ones off the shelf. She curls into the corner of the couch, knees tucked close, flipping a page every few minutes.
I could stand here for hours.
Watch her for hours.
I do it every day.
But tonight?
Tonight, I need more.
When she finally rises—stretching, yawning, fingers raking through her hair—my heart kicks.
She’s heading toward the bathroom.
Routine.
Predictable.
Perfect.
So fucking perfect.
I ghost after her, silent and close. Close enough to touch. Far enough that if she caught a flicker of movement, she’d tell herself it was nothing.
The door swings open.
The light spills out.
I stay pressed to the hallway wall, listening as she hums again—some mindless tune.
She didn’t shut the door all the way. I peek through the gap, catching her reflection in the mirror as she strips down.
Fuck.
The water starts with a groan of pipes.
A hiss of heat.
Steam curls under the door, thick and rolling.
I slip inside when she pulls the curtain shut.
The bathroom is warm and small, filled with the sound of falling water and the soft thud of her shampoo bottle hitting the ledge.
She’s behind the shower curtain.
A blurred figure.
Obscured.
Vulnerable.
The mirror fogs slowly, a creeping, swirling mist swallowing the reflection of the room.
I watch as my message takes over the mirror and smirk.
I’M WATCHING YOU.
She finishes, her silhouette moving with easy, mindless grace.
The water shuts off. She reaches out and grabs her towel.
The curtain peels back with a soft whoosh.
She steps out, face covered as she pats it dry.
When she bends down to dry her legs I have to stifle a groan.
I step back through the door.
Melt into the shadowed hallway.
Invisible.
A part of the darkness.
Waiting.
Breathing.
Her head lifts.
Her gaze snags on the mirror.
On the message.
A beat.
Another.
Her breath catches—just slightly.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
Yes. That’s it. Feel me. Finally.
She tilts her head.
Brows furrow.
She grabs the hand towel next to the sink.
Wipes the message away without a second thought.
“Huh,” she says, voice soft and curious.
Like it’s nothing.
Like it’s not the fucking world screaming at her.
Then—
She looks in the mirror .
Straight at me.
Our eyes lock.
My heart stops beating.
Everything in me goes still.
See me. See me. See me.
But there’s nothing.
No fear.
No recognition.
She smiles.
Soft.
Sweet.
Almost amused.
And turns away.
Walks out.
Leaves me standing there.
Invisible.
Unseen.
Undone.
Right. Fucking. There.
The door clicks shut behind her.
I don’t move.
I just stand there, surrounded by steam, staring at the mirror like it’s the fucking thing that betrayed me.
The words are gone.
She wiped them away.
She looked right at me—and she didn’t even see.
Heat surges under my skin, a brutal, suffocating wave.
I clench my fists at my sides, the leather creaking under the pressure.
Breathe. Don’t break anything. Don’t leave a mark .
My heart jackhammers against my ribs, hard enough I swear she should hear it.
My throat locks.
My chest heaves.
I want to scream.
I want to tear the walls down with my bare fucking hands.
But I don’t.
I stand there.
Silent.
Locked down.
Because this is her space.
Because if I destroy this, I destroy her. And she’s the only thing that’s still fucking perfect.
And I’m not here to wreck her world.
I’m here to remake it.
To make sure she knows she already belongs to me.
I dig my nails into my palms until the skin splits.
Tiny bursts of pain. Tiny leashes pulling me back from the edge.
Silence thickens around me. Heavy. Suffocating.
“You should be afraid,” I mutter, voice a broken rasp that barely escapes my throat.
“You should see me.”
My reflection stares back at me, empty and featureless behind the mask.
She wiped it away like it meant nothing.
She smiled at me.
The pressure builds until it feels like my bones might snap from it.
My muscles twitch, my skin too tight.
I close my eyes.
Force the rage down my throat like acid.
Control it.
Channel it.
I suck in a breath through my teeth.
Hold it until my lungs burn.
Let it out slow.
No sound.
No damage.
No trace.
She moves through the apartment, unaware.
Her soft footsteps.
The muted clink of a glass.
Making tea.
She’s fine.
She’s untouched.
She thinks she’s alone.
Something dark unfurls inside me.
If she won’t see me?
She’ll feel me.
I push off the wall, movements smooth, silent.
She heads for her bedroom.
Soft, oblivious little sighs escaping her as she settles in for the night.
I follow.
Because she didn’t react to the paper.
She didn’t react to the mirror.
She didn’t even react to me.
But she will.
Oh, angel,
you’re going to wake up knowing you’re mine .
I slip into her bedroom like a shadow, silent and deliberate.
The room is dim, washed in the soft haze of the moon.
She’s sprawled face down on the bed—beautiful, defenseless, mine.
One arm flung over her head, the blankets tangled around her hips.
The hem of her sleep shirt rides high, exposing the sweet curve of her lower back.
And next to her?
The fucking cat.
Curled up like he owns the place.
His eyes snap open the second I move closer.
We stare at each other across the expanse of her body.
Man versus beast.
I narrow my eyes.
Daring him.
For a moment, it’s a stalemate—until he lets out a low, disdainful meow, flicks his tail, and pointedly hops off the bed.
He stalks across the room, giving me his ass on the way out.
I smirk under my mask.
I’m the only king here, asshole.
The cat disappears into the hallway, tail high like he’s the one doing me a favor.
I turn my attention back to her.
The real prize.
The real battle.
She shifts in her sleep, murmuring something soft.
I drag the blanket down, slow and deliberate, exposing more of her.
Unwrapping what’s already mine—what already belongs to me.
I kneel on the mattress, it dips toward me. Making her slide a little closer.
I take a risk and straddle her thighs.
I’m so close to her now.
Close enough to see the tiny shiver that runs through her.
Close enough to feel the heat of her body roll against mine.
She sighs, the sound making my cock throb against my zipper.
I free myself, every movement slow, savored, earned.
My cock is already slick at the tip, aching for her, angry that she doesn’t know what she does to me.
I fist myself, dragging my hand down hard, punishing.
You ignored me, little angel.
You wiped me away like I was nothing.
Not tonight.
Tonight, you learn.
I stroke myself harder, faster, my breathing a low rasp against the dark.
She shifts again, the curve of her ass tightening under the thin cotton of her panties.
The sight of her skin, soft, unmarked, tears the last of my control away.
My body coils, every muscle locking up tight, and then?—
Release.
I come across her.
Hot. Violent. Claiming .
It splashes against the small of her back, streaking up the curve of her ass.
Sticky. Marking. Branding.
She twitches in her sleep, a tiny wrinkle pinching her brow.
Like she feels it.
Even if she doesn’t understand.
I rub the head of my cock against her to wipe the last drips on the hem of her panties, letting the mess soak into the fabric.
Letting her sleep in it.
Letting her wake up with me on her skin.
I stand there, breathing hard, cock still twitching, heart hammering.
She sighs again.
Smiles.
Fucking smiles.
The sound I choke back is part laugh, part snarl.
I could claim her fully right now.
Bury myself in her wet heat.
Make her wake up and know.
She’s mine.
But not yet.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she’ll wake sticky, confused, tainted.
And I’ll be watching.
Waiting.
Building something bigger than she can even fucking imagine.
I tuck myself back into my pants, fasten my belt.
A low growl rumbles in my chest.
I lean down, brush my fingers lightly across the mess staining her skin.
“You’re mine,” I whisper before I slide off the bed.
“Sleep tight, little angel.”
I slip into the shadows, leaving her marked, ruined, claimed.
The cat watches me from the hallway as I go.
He blinks once, slow and unimpressed.
I give him a two-fingered salute.
I pass the little table by the door.
Pull the wilted flowers from my pocket.
Leave them there without a second thought.
A blink. A breath.
I’m gone.