Nicole Evans never asked to be followed. She never asked for eyes in the dark, for a man like Keiran to orbit her life with silence and devotion sharp enough to wound. But obsession doesnt ask permission. It waits. It watches. It becomes inevitable. What began with missing men and shadows on rooftops soon unraveled into something far more intimate-an assassin who couldnt let go, and a woman who, piece by piece, stopped trying to make him. As friends vanished and her world narrowed, Nicole found herself drawn toward the very thing she feared most-not out of love, but recognition. In his violence, there was something terrifyingly tender. In his silence, something that listened more closely than anyone else ever had. Theirs is not a love story in any ordinary sense. Its a descent-a long, slow collapse into dependency, into surrender. A story told in bruises and shared tea, in blood and in stillness. A quiet unraveling that doesnt end in escape, but in a house by the sea, where memory lingers and echoes never fade. Some stories dont ask to be understood. Only remembered.
Chapter 1 The Arrangement
Nicole's fingers danced across the spines of the books, gently adjusting their positions. She wanted to create an alluring display, one that would capture the attention of passersby. The vibrant covers were like a painter's palette, and Nicole was the artist, carefully crafting her masterpiece. She stepped back, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized her handiwork. A slight tilt here, a nudge there-she was determined to find the perfect arrangement.
The bookstore was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in worlds spun by strangers. But today, she wanted the store itself to feel like one of those worlds: warm, magnetic, impossible to walk past without stepping inside. With a final satisfied nod, she admired the colorful display.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes watched from across the room-silent, curious, calculating.
She had worked at this little independent bookstore for just over a year, ever since graduating university. It wasn't the career she had envisioned, but it offered a comforting simplicity. The scent of paper, the rustle of turning pages, the quiet shuffle of feet on worn wooden floors-these were the constants that anchored her. They made her feel like she belonged in a way she hadn't since crossing the stage in cap and gown.
Nestled between a café and an art gallery on a narrow street, the bookstore had earned a loyal following. Regulars came like clockwork for their Saturday morning browse, their familiar faces a soothing presence. Most days, Nicole faded into the background, rearranging books, dusting shelves, or chatting with the occasional customer who
loved stories as much as she did.
But today, something felt off. A subtle restlessness hung in the air-nothing overt, just a quiet hum beneath the usual stillness. She found herself more aware of the people around her. A couple near the back caught her attention, speaking in hushed tones. Nicole wasn't one for gossip, and she wasn't in the habit of eavesdropping. But some conversations slipped through the cracks, carried on low voices with sharp edges.
"Did you watch the news last night? They found the body of a bank manager in the alley on Colonel Street. They think it might be Vane-the assassin. Same wounds as the other cases," one customer whispered, voice barely audible.
Nicole froze behind the shelf, her hand lingering on a book's spine. Vane. Assassin. The words hit like cold water.
"What? You really think it's him? The media loves a goodstory. Probably just a serial killer," the other replied, skeptical but intrigued.
She pretended to straighten the decorations nearby, though her mind raced. The name Vane wasn't new-she'd heard whispers. An assassin who moved like a ghost, killing with precision, leaving behind only fear. A myth to some, a nightmare to others.
"Isn't Colonel Street close by?" one of them asked, their voice edged with unease. The conversation faded, the tension lingering like fog. Nobody wanted to talk about it anymore, but the silence said more than words could.
Nicole returned to the shelves, trying to shake the unease. It was probably nothing. Just rumors. Urban legends. Still, her hands moved slower than before. She was brought back to the present by the sound of approaching footsteps. She glanced up as the customer who had been whispering came to the counter. He offered her a sheepish smile,
perhaps embarrassed for speaking so freely. Nicole responded with a polite, professional nod.
She turned back to her task-then froze. A prickling crawled up the back of her neck. She looked up slowly, and her eyes met his.
A stranger stood across the store, lingering near the romance section. She hadn't seen him come in. His gaze was fixed on her.
Unblinking. Cold. Sharp.
Everything around her seemed to blur, the store's gentle hum drowned by the thudding of her own heartbeat. The man's stare felt invasive, like he saw something no one else did. She quickly looked away, her pulse quickening. There was something in that stare-something that sent a chill crawling down her spine. Focus, she told herself. Just a weird customer. It happens.
But the name Vane echoed again in her mind.
The bell above the door jingled. The stranger was gone.
Relief came in a wave, but it didn't last. Even with him gone, she felt as though his presence still lingered.
Watching. Waiting.
She took a deep breath and reached for another book, her hands trembling slightly. Then she saw it. Tucked into the pages of a book on the bottom shelf was a folded
piece of paper. Her breath caught. She knelt slowly, pulling it free. The paper was creased, hurriedly folded. She unfolded it.
A single line, scrawled in jagged handwriting:
Vane's closer than you think. Don't trust anyone who talks about him. The hunt is just beginning.