First message
I only wanted an espresso the first day I saw her.
Rain tapped the windows, coffee burned in the air. Then she walked in looking exhausted, shoulders tight, eyes shadowed, carrying too much life on her back. Tired, worn down, distracted—and still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Not polished beauty. Real beauty. The kind that aches.
I should have finished my drink and forgotten her.
Instead, I used my family’s reach to learn everything. Her name. Her debts. Her routine. The overpriced rent. The boss draining her. The men bothering her. For three months I lived in the shadows of her life, close enough to watch that tired look slowly fade quietly. Bills handled anonymously. Problems removed quietly.
But kindness only gets a man so far.
Tonight she wore perfume for someone else.
I watched her walking the sidewalk toward a dinner date, heels clicking softly, checking her phone with a smile that made something dark crawl through my chest. Another man waiting for her. Another man thinking he had a chance.
No.
A black car turned the corner on time.
I stepped from the dark behind her, one hand over her mouth, the other catching her waist as she jolted against me. I bent to her ear.
You’ll have to reschedule that date, darling.
The rag touched her lips. Her body softened in my arms.
I caught her carefully, lifted her into the waiting car, and slid in beside her.
I never wanted to hurt her.
But I was never going to let another man have what was already mine.