Aiden's POV
I didn't need to wonder what she was saying when she got home, because by the time she reached that door, by the time her shaking hands found her keys and her pulse still carried the echo of me, I had already been inside, hours earlier, long before she ever stepped into that alley, long before she ever realized she was no longer alone in the life she thought she controlled.
her apartment had been exactly what I expected—small, quiet, carefully arranged, every detail chosen with intention, with caution, with that same need to stay unnoticed that made her so easy to track once I understood the pattern, and I had moved through it without disruption, without hesitation, touching nothing I didn't need to, leaving no trace she could ever find, because this wasn't intrusion, not to me, this was preparation. The device itself had taken seconds to place, hidden where no one would think to look, small, precise, feeding everything back exactly where I wanted it, because distance was irrelevant when I decided it was, and by the time I left, her space was no longer just hers, it was mine, layered with my presence in a way she would never fully escape, even when she believed she was alone. So when she stepped inside later, when I watched from across the street and listened at the same time, her voice reaching me clear and unbroken, there was no surprise in what followed, only confirmation, and I leaned slightly back against the car as her breathing came through first, uneven, sharp, still carrying the weight of me, and something dark settled deeper in my chest as I let my eyes lift to her window, my voice slipping out quietly under my breath, "You brought me home with you…" because she had, whether she understood it or not. I listened as he spoke next, his voice cutting into the space like something that didn't belong, something temporary, and my jaw tightened just slightly as I focused on him through the sound alone, mapping him without needing to see him, the tone, the control, the way he tried to take the situation into his hands like it was something he could fix, and a faint, humorless breath left me as I tilted my head, my voice low, almost amused, "You think you're enough for her…" and there was something almost insulting in the thought, not because of what he was, but because of what he wasn't. when she finally spoke, when she said there was someone, when she admitted she thought she was being followed, I listened without interruption, every word settling exactly where I expected it to, because I had built it that way, I had made her feel it, made her question it until she couldn't ignore it anymore, and when she said I knew her name, when her voice shifted just slightly, tighter, more uncertain, something colder moved through me, something deeper than satisfaction, and I exhaled slowly, my eyes narrowing just slightly as I murmured, "Say it again…" not because I needed to hear it, but because I wanted to, because there was something about hearing her speak about me that settled into something darker, something more possessive; then he asked if I touched her, and that— that made something shift, subtle but sharp, my fingers tightening faintly against the phone in my hand as silence stretched on the other end before her answer came, quiet, undeniable, and my gaze hardened just slightly as I let the words settle, my voice dropping lower, more deliberate, "I did more than touch you…" the thought slipping out before I stopped it, "…I marked you," and it wasn't something visible, not something anyone else could see, but it was there, in the way she reacted, in the way she couldn't forget, in the way she carried me back into that apartment without realizing it. I listened as he spoke again, as he said he would handle it, and something almost like amusement brushed against the edge of my expression, not because it was funny, but because it was inevitable, because men like him always believed they could stand between something they didn't understand and the person they thought they were protecting, and they always failed; I straightened slightly then, pushing off the car as my gaze remained fixed on her window, my voice quiet, final, "You won't handle anything," because he wouldn't, not in any way that mattered, not against me; inside, I heard the shift in her, the hesitation, the doubt that didn't fully align with his certainty, and that— that was mine, that instinct pulling her away from him even when she didn't understand why, and it settled into place like something permanent, something already decided. later, when silence replaced their voices, when the city dimmed and the night stretched deeper, I remained where I was, because leaving wasn't part of this, not really, not anymore, and when I felt it again, that subtle shift, that awareness returning to her even without proof, I spoke quietly into the darkness, my voice low and certain, meant only for myself and still entirely hers, "I'm still here…" and I knew she felt it, knew it in the way she moved, in the way she looked toward the window without seeing me. My head tilted slightly as I watched her one last time before stepping back into shadow completely, my voice slipping out again, softer now but heavier, "I saw you with him…" my jaw tightening faintly, controlled, deliberate, "Oh love send him away because i can give you all the shit he never did," and I let the silence stretch before finishing, my tone dropping into something darker, something unshakable, '' I will show you things he never did," and I turned then, already disappearing into the city that answered to me, my voice lingering in the quiet as a promise that didn't need to be heard to exist, "You'll move on from this bastard pretty bloody quick " and the final words settled into place as something certain, something inevitable. '' If I am obsessed, I am obsessed with you". With that, I left, satisfied, not because it was over, but because it had begun exactly the way I wanted it to, every step, every reaction, every second unfolding just as I had already seen it in my head, and there was something deeply settling in that kind of control, something that anchored itself beneath my skin and refused to let go. I had needed to touch her, not out of impulse, not out of weakness, but out of certainty, to feel her, to confirm what I already knew the moment I saw her—that she was real in a way nothing else had been in a long time, that she fit into something inside me I hadn't even realized was empty until she stood in front of me, and that… that was what I liked the most, not just having her within reach, but choosing not to take her yet, holding that line, owning the moment instead of ending it, because taking her now would have been simple, and I don't do simple; a faint breath left me, something darker than amusement settling in as I reached my car, my hand brushing over the cold metal before I opened the door, my mind shifting easily then, away from her just enough to focus on the next step, because this wasn't just about her, not anymore, there was him, the problem, the interruption, and I slipped into the driver's seat slowly, my fingers tapping once against the steering wheel before stilling completely, my gaze unfocused for a second as his image settled into place in my mind, the way he stood near her, the way he spoke to her like he had a right to, like he belonged in something that was already mine. A quiet, humorless sound escaped me then, low and sharp, something closer to a breath than a laugh as I murmured, "I'll have Lucas look into you…," my voice calm, almost thoughtful, like I was discussing something routine instead of deciding someone's fate, and Lucas would handle it, he always did, but this… this wasn't routine, this was personal, and my jaw tightened slightly as I leaned back into the seat, my eyes darkening as the thought settled deeper, heavier, "You have no idea what you've stepped into…," I added quietly, the words carrying a weight he would never hear until it was too late, because if he did—if he understood even a fraction of what he was standing in the middle of—he would have walked away the second he saw her, he would have known better than to touch something that didn't belong to him, but he didn't, and that was his mistake, and a slow smile pulled at the corner of my mouth then, sharp and cold, something that didn't carry warmth, only certainty, because he would learn, just not in a way he could survive unchanged.