37. 'The Stalker'
We reach the spot Xavier was taking me to. An alley hidden beneath a rundown bar. The air smells faintly of smoke and damp concrete, the bass of muffled music vibrating through the floorboards above.
Underground boxing.
Xavier's hand tightens around my waist the moment we step inside, his grip firm, guiding me through the dim corridor like a shield. His presence is enough to make a few heads turn, but no one dares approach.
The low hum of voices rises around us, rough men leaning against walls, some with bandaged knuckles, some with beers dangling from careless fingers. It's not a place for me, anyone can tell. That's why he keeps me tucked close, his body angled just enough that I'm half-hidden in him.
We walk behind the bar, past a narrow hall that smells like sweat and cheap cologne, past the clatter of lockers shutting and the echo of muffled voices. My heartbeat stumbles with every step until Xavier pushes open a heavy door.
It swings wide, revealing a man in a suit seated casually at a table, two bodyguards flanking him like shadows. His presence alone shifts the air, like he owns the world without needing to raise his voice.
"Ah, Hayes," he drawls smoothly, getting straight to the point. His gaze slides from Xavier to me "So, the person we got? Seems your ballerina has a fan. A stalker, I'd say."
He lifts a folder and flicks it open, letting glossy photographs scatter- my face, my silhouette walking down streets, me leaving the studio, even one of me in my apartment window. My stomach knots, breath stuttering in my chest.
Xavier's jaw locks, eyes flicking from the photos to the man in the suit. His hand finds my waist again, tightening like he's anchoring both me and himself.
"Dom," Xavier grits out, voice low and razor sharp, "where is that fucker?"
The man- Dom- replies, "Follow me." He gets up from his chair, and leads us down another corridor. He stops in front of a steel door and pushes it open.
Inside, a man is tied to a chair, wrists tied, head hanging low. His face is bruised, a cut splitting his lip, but even through the haze of blood and shadows, I realize I don't know him. I've never seen him before in my life.
Dom folds his arms. "Apparently this guy's been attending all your showcases. Front row sometimes, back row others. Watches you dance. And, well..." his lips curl into a frown "Followed you like a creep."
Dom tilts his head. "Says his name is Jake, but..." He shrugs casually. "Doesn't look like a Jake to me."
Before I can process, Xavier steps forward, his fury uncoiling like fire. He grabs the man by the collar, jerking his head up. "Why the hell did you break into her apartment?" His voice is a low growl, raw with restrained violence.
The man winces, eyes flickering to me for just a second—something in that glance makes my skin crawl.
"Answer me!" Xavier's grip tightens, the chair screeching against the floor as he shakes him once.
Xavier's fist cracks against the man's jaw with a sickening thud, snapping his head to the side. Blood sprays, and the stalker slumps, dazed but laughing through it, teeth stained red.
Xavier doesn't stop. His knuckles slam into the man again and again.
"Xavier!" My voice tears out before I even think. I move forward, hands clutching at his arm, desperate, pleading. "Don't get violent, please."
His chest heaves as if every breath is a war, For a terrifying second, I don't know if he even hears me. Then his gaze cuts to me, and he calms down.
The stalker spits blood, grinning through swollen lips. "Look at the beauty calming the beast."
Xavier jerks against my grip, but I press closer, pressing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the storm in him.
"Please, Xavier," I whisper, softer now, the plea meant only for him. "Don't let him take this side of you."
For a heartbeat, the room stills—Dom watching with sharp eyes, the guards stiff at the edges. Xavier's jaw clenches, veins standing out along his neck. His fist trembles at his side, bloodied, itching for more.
But he doesn't swing again. He just exhales hard, like he's forcing it back down, because I asked him to.
The man coughs, his head lolling before he spits blood to the side. His voice is hoarse, but the words are sharp enough to slice right through me.
"Your... your perfume," he rasps, eyes flicking up to mine. "You only wear it on Sundays. The jasmine one. Thought it was... special. Just for me."
My stomach knots.
Xavier's jaw tightens, his knuckles white where he grips the man's collar. "You sick—" He slams him back against the chair, teeth gritted, fury vibrating off of him.
But the man keeps going, almost delirious, a twisted smile tugging at his split lip. "And the way you always touch your ankle before going on stage... little nervous habit. Cute. Makes you real." His eyes dart to me again, glassy but intent. "You don't even know when you do it."
The man's head tips back against the chair, a broken laugh rattling from his chest. His eyes lock onto mine, glassy but lit with something feral.
"You know what I liked best?" he croaks, his lips curling. "The way your curtains never fully close at night. Just a sliver... enough for me to see you twirl, barefoot, in your living room. Like you were dancing for me."
My blood turns to ice. My hands tremble at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
Xavier snaps—grabbing the man by the throat and shoving him back so hard the chair screeches against the concrete floor. His voice is a growl, low and murderous.
"You watched her in her own fucking home?"
The man just grins through the choke, wheezing, spit bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "She looked... pure. Like an angel trapped in glass. Mine to admire."
"Dominic," he growls, his voice like iron scraping against stone. "Why the fuck didn't you get information about this man before? How the hell does he show up in her apartment and then suddenly he's tied to a chair in your basement? What the fuck are you pulling?"
"Hayes, you think I don't vet the rats that crawl into my alleys?
" he says coolly, jerking his chin at the man tied to the chair.
"This one slipped through cracks. Paid someone off.
Moved like a ghost." His eyes flick briefly to me, then back to Xavier.
"But ghosts always leave a shadow, just took me time to find it. "
The stalker laughs again and it slithers under my skin. "You think you can erase me? You think chains and fists will make me forget her? She's etched in my head. Every breath she takes. Every movement..."
Dom leans in then, close enough that Xavier and I can smell the faint leather and tobacco on him. His voice drops, low, almost amused. "Now you decide how to end it."
My stomach twists.
End it?
"So, ballerina," Dominic tilts his head at me, his tone deceptively casual "You didn't notice anyone staring at you? Following you? Or at least stalking you?"
I swallow hard, shaking my head. "No. Nothing like that."
Dom chuckles under his breath, a sound that doesn't quite match the easy smile on his face. He taps ash from his cigarette, his gaze sliding briefly to Xavier before pinning me again.
"Interesting," he says slowly, almost savoring the word. "Because men like him don't just appear out of nowhere. They pick up habits. Patterns. They blend in until they're invisible. And when you don't notice... it makes their job that much easier."
The hairs rise at the back of my neck. My pulse hammers, though I try to keep my expression calm.
Dom studies me, too long, too intently. Then he smirks, leaning back like he's said enough.
──────????°? ? ?°?? ??──────
Back in Xavier's penthouse the world feels muted.
"Amara," Xavier's voice is gentle, He crouches in front of where I'm sitting on the couch, his hand brushing over my knee. "Are you okay?"
I blink, realizing I've been staring at the floor for too long. His eyes search mine, dark with worry.
"I don't know," I admit, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. "It felt so real... so close. Like he was always there, and I didn't even notice."
Xavier's thumb strokes over my skin, grounding me. "He's not here now," he murmurs. "I won't let him near you again. I swear, Amara. I'll never let anyone hurt you."
Xavier leans back on the couch, sitting on the floor. Then, with a low sigh, he speaks.
"Amara... there's a lot about me you don't know. About where I come from. What I've done." His eyes flicker at the window, the city lights spilling across his jawline "Underground boxing... it wasn't just a phase, or some reckless way to pass time. It was survival."
"Dominic Hale, you saw him tonight." Xavier's voice tightens, bitter.
"He runs it. Runs everything. The fights, the bets, the money.
He's not just some guy in a suit. He's got reach.
Influence and I..." His hand curls into a fist on his knee.
"I used to be one of his fighters. His favorite, actually.
The one he'd put money on, the one he'd parade when he needed to prove dominance. "
Dominic Hale? That's his full name?
I stare at him, the words heavier than I expected.
"And when I walked away," Xavier continues, his jaw clenched, "it wasn't easy.
Men like Dominic don't just let you leave.
He still calls in favors, still drags me back when it suits him.
Tonight was one of those nights." His eyes finally meet mine "That's the world I swore I wouldn't drag you into. And yet..."
His gaze lingers on me, haunted. "Here we are."
I keep quiet, letting him speak.
"You ever wondered why the theme of my house is white and gold?" Xavier asks after a beat, his voice gentler now. He glances around, then back at me.
I shake my head, looking down at him. "No."
"Well, until you came and changed it to pink, lavender, and blue" The faintest smile tugs at his lips, breaking the heaviness just for a moment.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "There's this Japanese art form called kintsugi. When pottery breaks, instead of throwing it away, they repair it with powdered gold. They don't hide the cracks, they highlight them. Make them beautiful. Stronger than before."
He pauses, running a thumb absently along the seam of his knuckles, as if remembering every scar. "That's what the gold here means. Every piece of me that broke, every fight, every scar, every mistake I made."
"I built this place to remind myself I wasn't just shattered pieces." Then he exhales, looking up at me"But with you here? With your colors bleeding into everything for the first time, I think maybe I don't need the reminder. Because you make me feel whole without it."
"I hope we never have to fix anything, Xav" I whisper, going down to sit beside him on the floor. His arms wrap around me instinctively.
His lips brush the crown of my head, sealing a promise neither of us had the power to keep. "We won't, Swan." he murmured, soft and certain.
We were liars.
Because one day, we'd shatter- beyond repair, and when that day came, I'd be the one to drop the first piece.
ps: read the note!