The first rule of any hunt was silence. Silence in motion. Silence in thought. Silence in every inch of the mask you wore until the prey was too ensnared to realize you had been watching all along. Evan had built an empire out of silence—out of calculation, anticipation, patience. He could charm boardrooms with his smile, disarm adversaries with a handshake, and carve his rivals to pieces without ever raising his voice. No one suspected the blood that ran under his fingernails. No one, except Adrian. But Adrian didn’t know the half of it. He didn’t know that while he was curled on the couch with a book, or pacing the kitchen with coffee in hand, or sleeping with his lips slightly parted in the way that drove Evan half-mad with tenderness, there was another war raging in the shadows. Alec Rotti. The name had come together piece by piece, like a puzzle Evan refused to leave unfinished. The blurred outlines in photographs, the grainy security footage, the strange flicker of familia
Evan didn’t believe in coincidences.Coincidences were for men who were too lazy to notice patterns. For men who told themselves that the world was random so they wouldn’t feel small when it chewed them up.Evan was not one of those men.The stalker had left fingerprints all over the edges of their life. He was careful, yes—disciplined, almost surgical—but not perfect. And Evan had spent too many years in boardrooms, in backroom negotiations, in fights with rivals who would slit throats over ink on a page, to mistake discipline for invisibility.The key was patience.For days, Evan followed him. A shadow behind the shadow. He didn’t confront, not yet. He collected. He memorized. He mapped. The stalker liked routine—he smoked the same brand, stood at the same alley corner outside the newsstand, bought the same cheap black coffee at the cart near Seventh Avenue. He always lingered too long when Adrian was near, his posture tight, his shoulders square.And Evan burned each detail into hi
Alec Rotti had always believed the strongest men were the ones who could wait. Patience, in his mind, wasn’t a virtue. It was a weapon. And he wielded it as well as he wielded anything else.That was why he was sitting in his car now, the windows tinted dark enough to make him invisible, parked just far enough from the café to avoid suspicion, but close enough to see. He didn’t need to get out. He didn’t need to step inside. Watching was enough.Adrian was there again. He always was, at some point during the week, either on his own or with colleagues. Sometimes with Evan. Those were the worst days, though Alec had grown addicted to them—watching the man he hated most stand so close to something so delicate, so undeserving of his shadow.Alec’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he took in the scene before him. Adrian was laughing at something, his smile faint but genuine, eyes soft as he leaned into the conversation with a friend across the table.It should
Evan always woke before Adrian. It wasn’t just habit, though he’d tell Adrian it was. It was necessity. He needed those hours of silence before the sun came up, when the world was dark and Adrian’s breathing was the only sound in the apartment. Those hours gave him time to think, to plan, to calculate. This morning was no different. He was up before dawn, watching the faint rise and fall of Adrian’s chest beside him in bed. For a fleeting moment, he let himself linger—watching the soft angle of Adrian’s jaw, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep, the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Beautiful. Untouchable. His. But the moment broke as his eyes drifted to the folder on his desk across the room. Printed photographs. Still frames from grainy footage. Blurred outlines of a man too close, far too close, to Adrian in the past few weeks. Outside the café. Across the street from his office. Even in the park where Evan had taken him once for a walk—Adrian’s laugh ca
The threats didn’t stop.They came in waves—sliding under the door in cheap envelopes, typed messages tucked between advertisements, texts from strange numbers that vanished before Adrian could even screenshot them. Each one was more invasive than the last.I’m watching you.He doesn’t love you, he owns you.Every cage has a lock—and I have the key.And then the pictures started.Blurry at first, as though taken with a shaky hand from across the street. Adrian walking out of his office. Adrian laughing in a café with coworkers. Adrian waiting for Evan outside the gallery, arms wrapped tight around himself against the cold.The one that made his blood run cold wasn’t grainy at all. It was crystal-clear—him and Evan, seated at the restaurant weeks ago, Evan’s hand curled possessively over his thigh under the table. They hadn’t noticed the flash. They hadn’t thought anyone was close enough to see.On the back was scrawled: I’m coming for you.---Evan’s reaction was immediate.The first
The photographs didn’t leave Adrian’s mind.Even after Evan swept them off the table and shoved them into a drawer, even after he’d murmured soft reassurances that “nothing will touch you, I promise,” the images burned into Adrian’s thoughts.Every picture had been taken without his knowledge. Every smile, every glance across a table, every moment where he’d felt like maybe things were normal—captured, observed, stolen.And the words scrawled across the bottom of the page kept replaying like a drumbeat:I’m coming for you.Adrian had thought Evan’s obsession was suffocating before. He had thought the constant monitoring, the hand at his back, the eyes on him everywhere he went, was already too much.But after the note, it only got worse.---It began the next morning.Evan didn’t leave his side. Not for a moment.He trailed Adrian from the bedroom to the kitchen, insisting on pouring his coffee, watching him take every sip. He followed him into the living room, settled close enough on