Damien Vale
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Rain whispered against the windshield as Damien drove through the city—slow, deliberate, savoring the silence. His fingers rested calmly on the steering wheel, the same way they had once rested on Elena's spine—lightly, possessively, like he already owned what hadn't yet submitted.
She was slipping. Not into fear, no.
Into awareness.
The kind that pulsed behind her eyes when she looked over her shoulder. When she hesitated before opening doors.
She was beginning to feel him beneath her skin.
He parked two blocks from her apartment. The streetlight above buzzed, flickered once, then died. Convenient. Or maybe obedient. Damien never believed in coincidence.
He didn't need to enter tonight. That would be... premature. No, tonight was about a whisper instead of a roar. He walked the sidewalk slowly, his coat soaking in the rain, the scent of stormwater and concrete thick in the air.
He passed her building. Looked up.
Second floor. Window slightly open.
He stopped beneath it for exactly three seconds. Long enough for the shape of him to be noticed if she looked.
Long enough for her to doubt herself if she didn't.
Then he walked on.
Back in his car, he pulled out a small velvet box from the glove compartment. Inside—her bracelet. The one she thought she'd lost weeks ago.
He closed it and tucked it in his coat pocket. He'd leave it tomorrow. Somewhere private. Somewhere she'd question everything when she found it.
Because this wasn't just obsession. It was art. Control painted in shadows and silences.
And Damien Vale was a master of the medium.
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