Chapter 2 – Roses in the Dark
Emily didn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the news article again: Lisa Grant, strangled. A rose petal clutched in her hand.
And behind the police tape her mind insisted the outline of a man in a dark suit who could have been Alex.
She told herself it was impossible. Coincidence. Manhattan had thousands of tall men in suits. She was overtired, wine-drunk, letting her obsession with true crime twist shadows into monsters.
Still, she double-checked the locks on her apartment before crawling into bed.
At 3:00 a.m., her phone buzzed.
A text from Alex.
“I can’t sleep either. Must be your fault.”
Her chest squeezed. She wanted to smile, to melt into the warm flirtation. But her eyes flicked to the news headline still glowing on her screen.
Red rose petal.
She didn’t reply.
~~~
By morning, Sarah had already called three times.
“Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.” Sarah’s voice was sharp, tinged with worry.
Emily rubbed her temple. “No. He just walked me home. That’s it.”
“Good. Because did you see the story about Lisa Grant?”
“Yes, I saw it.” Emily hesitated. “But Sarah, you don’t think ”
“I think serial killers don’t wear name tags, Em. You need to be careful. These guys charm their victims first. Make them feel safe.”
Emily sighed. Sarah was always the cautious one. “You’re making it sound like every man I meet is secretly Ted Bundy.”
“And yet you have a history of picking guys who ghost, cheat, or worse.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s not unfair either.”
Emily stayed quiet, staring at the paint-streaked mug in her hands. Sarah meant well. She always did. But Emily couldn’t shake the memory of Alex’s gaze, steady and intent, the way he made her feel seen.
“Just promise me you won’t rush into anything,” Sarah pressed. “Let me run a quick background check. Journalist perks.”
“Sarah ”
“Promise.”
Emily exhaled. “Fine. I promise.”
~~~
The promise lasted exactly six hours.
By evening, Alex had texted her again.
“Dinner tonight? I’ll cook. My place. You pick the wine.”
She hesitated only a moment before typing back: What’s your address?
~~~
Alex’s loft in Brooklyn was a dream out of a design magazine. Exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves lined with books and architectural models. A single canvas leaned against the wall an unfinished sketch of a cathedral that looked alive with light.
“Wow,” Emily breathed. “This is… incredible.”
Alex smiled, slipping her coat off her shoulders with effortless grace. “Perks of being an architect. We like our spaces to tell stories.”
Dinner was even more impressive pan-seared salmon, roasted vegetables, garnished like a chef’s masterpiece. Emily was halfway through a glass of wine when her phone buzzed with another news alert.
She froze.
“Serial Dater Killer Confirmed: Police Connect Multiple Victims to Dating App.”
The article included Lisa Grant and another woman, murdered last month. Same pattern. Same petal.
Emily’s hand trembled, and the wine sloshed.
Alex looked up from the stove. “Something wrong?”
She quickly locked her screen. “Just… work emails.”
“On a Saturday night?” He chuckled, turning back to the pan. “Sounds like you need better boundaries.”
Emily forced a smile, but her thoughts raced.
Two women. Both independent. Both around her age. Both met their killer on an app.
She glanced at Alex, tall and focused, knife flashing as he chopped herbs. A strange chill crawled up her spine.
~~~
After dinner, they drifted to the couch. Alex pulled a blanket over them, his arm draped casually along the back. He asked about her art, her inspirations. She told him about her obsession with colors, how she painted emotions more than landscapes.
When she laughed at one of his teasing remarks, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle. Intimate.
For a moment, she let herself lean into it. Let herself forget the fear.
Then he whispered, “You have the kind of face artists dream of sketching.”
Her stomach tightened. Sketching.
Her eyes flicked to the unfinished drawing against the wall.
Of course it wasn’t her. Just some cathedral. But suddenly she wanted to know what else he drew.
When he excused himself to the kitchen, she drifted to his work desk. Papers, pens, architectural drafts. A sketchbook half-buried beneath blueprints.
Her fingers hovered.
Don’t snoop.
But curiosity won. She flipped it open.
Dozens of faces stared back. Women’s faces. Sharp jawlines, delicate features, eyes drawn with unnerving precision.
Her heart stuttered.
They looked eerily like the women in the news articles.
~~~
“Looking for something?”
She flinched, nearly dropping the sketchbook.
Alex leaned against the wall, watching her. His tone was calm, but something unreadable glinted in his eyes.
“I I was just curious,” she stammered.
He walked closer, plucking the book gently from her hands. “Practice studies. Nothing more. I sketch everyone. Strangers on the subway, people in cafés. Helps me capture character.”
He closed the book and set it aside. “You don’t trust me.”
Emily swallowed. “I don’t know you.”
Silence stretched.
Then he smiled faintly and reached for her hand. “Then let’s change that.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The tension eased, but not entirely.
Later, as he kissed her goodnight at her door, Emily tried to convince herself she was being paranoid.
But when she stepped into her apartment, her phone buzzed again.
A text from an unknown number.
“Watch your back.”
Her breath caught.
And when she looked down, she realized something else someone had slipped a folded piece of paper under her door.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
It was a printed screenshot of her dating app profile.
Her face circled in red ink.
