14. A Predator's Claim

Kian

I shouldn’t be here. I know that. Yet every nerve in my body drives me toward her, like a tide I can’t fight.

Lena Moore.

Her name is etched into every wall of my mind. And the thought of her spending a night in that viper’s nest—the King mansion—burns through me like acid. Aaron King. The man I hate more than anyone alive. The man who thinks he can take what’s mine.

But she isn’t his. She never will be.

I keep my hood pulled low, the black mask covering half of my face as I step quietly inside her house. Her scent lingers in the air—soft, sweet, maddening. I slide my hands deep into my pockets, forcing calm into my movements even though my blood is simmering.

The door clicks shut behind me. Silence.

Minutes pass before I hear the faint creak of the lock turning again. My heart pounds with anticipation. She’s here.

She steps inside, the pale light of the hallway catching her delicate features. For a moment, she doesn’t see me. She sets her bag down, sighs as though the weight of the world is pressing against her shoulders. But then her eyes flicker up—landing on me where I stand, half-hidden in shadow.

The sound she makes is sharp, strangled. She staggers back against the doorframe, her body stiffening, her lips parting in fear.

“W-what… who—?”

Her voice falters, and the sight of her trembling sends a dangerous thrill through me. She’s afraid, but she’s looking at me. Finally, she’s seeing me.

I take one step forward, slow, deliberate. “You know who I am.”

Her breath quickens, chest rising and falling rapidly as though she’s running a marathon. She grips the wall behind her, as if she could melt into it, escape me. But there’s nowhere to run.

Her stalker. That’s what she thinks of me. The word would terrify anyone else, but to me, it feels like a crown I wear with pride. Because I watch her not to harm her, but to protect her. To keep her from wolves like Aaron King.

“You… you can’t be here,” she whispers, her voice quivering.

I tilt my head, hands still buried in my pockets as I move closer. “You spent the night in his house.”

The words leave me coated with venom. I see the panic flicker in her eyes, but she doesn’t deny it. That silence is enough to shatter the last threads of restraint I’ve been holding onto.

“Tell me, Lena,” I press, my voice low, smooth, dangerous. “What is Aaron King to you?”

She doesn’t answer. She can’t. Her throat works, lips trembling, but no words escape. Her silence is louder than anything she could have said.

I chuckle darkly, though there’s no humor in it. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t deserve to touch you. To look at you. To breathe the same air as you.”

Her wide eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she still doesn’t speak. She’s paralyzed, caught in the trance of meeting the very shadow that’s been lurking over her life.

“You think I wouldn’t know?” I step closer, and she flinches. “You think I wouldn’t see you with him? I’ve seen everything, Lena. Every smile, every word. And I won’t allow it.”

The fire in my chest pushes me further. I lean in, letting my voice brush against her like a whisper made of knives. “Would you like to know who set his warehouse on fire?”

There is a moment of silence until I confess, “Me!”

Her gasp fills the room like shattered glass. Her hand flies to her mouth, horror painted across her perfect face. “Yes, it was me.” She shakes her head, whispering, “No… no, you didn’t…”

“I did.” I don’t hesitate. I let the truth slice the air between us. “And I’d do it again if it meant keeping you away from him.”

Her back hits the wall as I move closer. I watch her struggle between the instinct to scream and the instinct to freeze. She’s trembling, and God help me, she’s breathtaking like this—her fear carved into beauty that only I get to see up close.

Her shaky whisper reaches me. “Show me your face.”

I pause. The smart move would be to vanish, keep the mask, keep the mystery. But I’m not afraid. She can’t do anything, not with me standing here, not with her heart racing like a trapped bird.

So I peel the mask away.

Her eyes widen, pupils blown with shock. Recognition flickers, though I know she never truly expected me. But I stand tall, unflinching, my lips curving in the faintest smirk.

“This is me,” I murmur. “The man who’s been watching. Protecting. The one who will do anything to keep you safe.”

She shudders, her whole body rigid as I step into her space. My hand lifts slowly, deliberately, and I brush my fingers across her lips. Soft, trembling. She gasps, but doesn’t move.

My touch trails along her cheek, down to her hair, and I savor every second. “Do you know how perfect you look when you’re afraid? How much more I want you when you look at me like this?”

Her breath hitches, her body pinned between me and the wall.

“You can’t escape me, Lena,” I whisper against her ear. “And you shouldn’t try. Stay away from all those predatory eyes… because you only belong to me.”

I pull back just enough to take the phone from my pocket. With a flick of my thumb, I show her the image glowing on the screen—the man I killed last night, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Her gasp is sharper this time, her knees buckling as horror rips through her face. “Oh my God… no…”

“Yes.” My voice is calm, almost serene. “this is what you get when you upset me, Lena.”

“And I assure you next time it would would Aaron King.” Her eyes are widened with fear just as I finish speaking.

She shakes her head violently, tears spilling. “Please… please leave…”

Her desperation is a knife to my chest, but I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s overwhelmed. One day she’ll understand.

I lean down, pressing my lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Her lips are cold, stiff, unresponsive, but I drink the moment in like wine.

“Goodnight, my love,” I murmur before pulling away.

The night thickens around me as I leave Lena’s house, my chest still burning with the warmth of her presence. My lips sting with the ghost of the kiss I forced on her, a kiss I know she’ll never forget. I glance back, just before stepping into the shadows, and there she is—watching me from the window like a caged bird, dread spilling over her face.

Her fear is intoxicating. It roots itself deep in me, becoming an anchor and a knife all at once.

I don’t want her fear—I want her. But fear, I tell myself, is better than indifference. Fear means I exist in her world.

Back in my apartment, the silence greets me like an old friend. I sink into the armchair, the one placed precisely across from the wall where her photograph hangs. Her smile radiates from the frame, an expression she’ll never gift to Aaron King again—not if I can stop it.

I replay the night in loops inside my head. Her flinches. Her stiffened body against the wall. The way her lips trembled when I brushed my fingers against them. She looked like a porcelain doll—fragile, breakable, mine to shatter or keep whole.

Every detail wraps around me like barbed wire, making it impossible to breathe without thinking of her.

I laugh under my breath, running my tongue over the memory of her fear. “You can’t escape me, Lena,” I whisper into the shadows. “Not from me. Not ever.”

Hours pass, though they feel like seconds. My thoughts drift between dreams and obsessions. At some point, I realize I’ve been smiling endlessly, grinning like a madman, staring at her picture until my eyes ache. The world could crumble tonight, and I wouldn’t move. As long as I have her here, in my mind, I am alive.

Then—

My phone vibrates on the table. I almost ignore it, but the glow of the screen catches my eye. A notification. An article headline. I lean forward, the grin still plastered on my face—until I read the words.

"Scandal Rocks King Enterprises: CEO Aaron King Caught Kissing His Assistant, Lena Moore."

The words sear through me like acid poured into an open wound.

My smile dies.

The room tilts, shrinks, then expands into a roar. My lungs forget how to draw breath. My fingers twitch around the phone, the glass trembling in my grip as the image loads beneath the headline. A grainy still—Aaron King’s mouth pressed against hers. Her lips, my Lena’s lips, locked to his.

No fucking way.

I can’t move. I can’t think. My blood is molten, flooding through my veins until my body is shaking. A howl erupts inside me, silent but deafening, ripping apart every thread of restraint I’d clung to earlier tonight.

The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.

My chest heaves. The air is poison.

I stagger to my feet, the room spinning. Rage claws at my fucking skin, demanding release. My hand lashes out blindly, knocking a lamp to the ground, glass shattering across the carpet. I seize the edge of the coffee table and heave it sideways, wood splintering as it crashes against the wall.

But it’s not enough.

I grab the first thing my hand touches—a picture frame. Her picture. The one I clutched all night, the one that warmed me, kept me fucking alive. The glass bites into my palm as I fling it across the room. It smashes against the wall, raining shards to the floor.

Still, her smile looks down at me from the larger portrait hanging on the wall. Untouched. Untainted. Fucking mocking me.

I stumble toward it, my breaths short, ragged. My eyes burn. My voice is hoarse when I whisper, “You cheated on me, Lena… after everything. After I warned you. After I told you what I’d done for you.”

I press my forehead against the glass of the portrait, closing my eyes, trying to steady the storm inside. But steadiness is gone. There is only fire now. Only bloodlust.

The image of that bastard Aaron’s lips on hers resurfaces, and I choke on my own fury.

I see myself killing him. Again and again. The vision plays in my head like a film reel, each frame more brutal than the last. A knife, a gun, my bare hands around his throat—it doesn’t matter how, only that it happens. That it must happen.

My fingers twitch. My eyes drift toward the drawer by my bed. I know what waits inside.

I move before I can think, before sanity can interfere. The drawer slams open, wood cracking against the wall. My pistol lies in its velvet-lined box, gleaming under the dim light. The weight of it is familiar, comforting, like shaking hands with an old friend.

I grab it. Cold steel against burning flesh.

“This ends tonight,” I hiss, my voice guttural, alien. “He’ll never touch her again.”

I shove the gun into my jacket, slam the drawer shut, and storm toward the door. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. My hands shake, not with fear but with anticipation.

The morning sun is sharp when I step outside, cutting against my skin as though the world itself is trying to restrain me. But I can’t be restrained anymore.

I get into my car, jam the key into the ignition, and the engine roars awake. My foot slams the accelerator, and the tires screech against the asphalt.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. Every red light is an insult, a pathetic attempt to slow me down. I don’t stop. I don’t yield. I cut through traffic like a predator, blind to the horns and screeches around me.

All I see is Aaron fucking King. All I hear is Lena’s gasp when I showed her the man I killed for her. All I feel is the promise of blood.

“You’re mine, Lena,” I growl into the empty car. “And if he thinks he can take you—then I’ll bury him myself.”

The rage drowns me. I press harder on the gas, pushing the car beyond its limit. My vision tunnels, everything narrowing to the single thought of ending him.

But then—

Headlights.

Blinding. Sudden.

A horn blares.

I twist the wheel too late. The truck appears out of nowhere, a steel beast lunging across my path.

The impact is a thunderclap. My body whips forward, glass exploding, metal screeching as the world shatters around me.

Then—black.