Chapter 2 Chapter 2

/Elio/

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the white lily sitting on the carpet like a threat. I saw the door to 3205 clicking shut. My mind kept looping back to three years ago—to the night my life actually took this dark turn.

I was just a photography student with a camera and a bad habit of taking shortcuts through alleys to catch the "blue hour" light. That was the night I found him. Not Marcus, but a man bleeding out behind a dumpster, his expensive suit shredded by bullets.

I should have called the police. I should have run. But I had seen the way his hand clutched a silver crucifix, his knuckles white with the effort of staying alive. Instinct took over. I’d used my camera strap as a tourniquet. I’d driven him to a private clinic, staying until he was stable. I thought I was being a hero. I didn't realize that by saving a devil, I had earned his eternal, suffocating gratitude.

That man had been a high-ranking member of one of the syndicates Marcus hated or at least, he was a member of a gang. It was around that time I met Marcus—a man who claimed he wanted to protect me but ended up owning me.

The sun began to sip through the gaps in my blackout curtains, turning the floors of my new apartment a dusty gold. I sat up, my bones aching. I needed to move. 

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I flinched, but it wasn't a DM from TheGhost. It was a text from Sarah.

Sarah: Babe, I just heard! Marcus is losing his mind. He’s telling everyone you’ll be back by dinner. Are you safe? Where are you?

I typed back with numb fingers: I’m safe. Don’t tell anyone where I am. I mean it, Sar. Not even for a ‘wellness check.’

I stood up and walked to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. The lily was gone.

Cleaners? Or had he come back for it?

I needed coffee to reset my mind. I dressed in my usual uniform—oversized black blazer, leggings, and combat boots. If I looked professional, maybe I’d start feeling like the independent woman I was supposed to be.

As I pulled my door open, the apartment across the hall opened at the exact same time.

I froze.

The man who stepped out was tall enough that I had to tilt my head back. He was undeniably handsome and maybe because it had been so long since I was surrounded by men that didn't look Marcus’s men but I felt my cheeks heat up.

"Oh," he said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone. He offered a small, disarming smile. "You must be the new neighbor. Elio, right?"

I gripped the strap of my camera bag until my knuckles turned white. "How do you know my name?"

He chuckled, and the sound was warm, almost comforting. "I’m Caius. I’m the one who sent you the text last night. The concierge mentioned a 'Ms. Vance' was moving in, and since I’m the head of the neighborhood association here, I figured I’d offer a hand."

He reached out, not to touch me, but to press the elevator button. His movements were fluid and graceful, and I feared I'd get swept up.

"I didn't need any help," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

"I can see that," Caius replied, turning those intense, dark eyes on me. They weren't cold like Marcus's. They were deep—like a well you could fall into and never hit the bottom. "You seem like someone who handles herself very well. But Palmlake can be a bit... overwhelming at first."

We stepped into the elevator together. The space felt suddenly very small. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"You mentioned the security," I said, trying to make conversation to mask my nerves. "In your text."

"The best in the city," he said firmly. He leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, watching me with a look of quiet fascination. "I did a lot of the consulting for the biometric upgrades here myself. I value privacy, Elio. I imagine a woman in your position does, too."

I stiffened. "My position?"

"A high-profile photographer. Influencer," he said easily, though something in his gaze felt far more weighted. "I’ve seen your work. You have an eye for things people usually miss."

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to the lobby. I felt a rush of air, but Caius didn't move immediately. He held the door for me, his hand lingering near my shoulder but never quite making contact.

"You’ll finally be able to sleep at night here, Elio," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "No one gets into this building unless I want them to."

It was a strange thing to say. Reassuring, yet laced with an authority that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Thank you, Caius," I murmured, stepping past him.

"I’ll be seeing you around," he called out. "Don't forget—I'm just across the hall if you need anything.”

I spent the day at a café, trying to edit photos, but my mind kept drifting back to him. Caius was everything Marcus wasn't. He was refined. He was gentle. He was... perfect. Too perfect.

By the time I returned to Palmlake that evening, the sun was setting. I checked my phone. No new messages from the Ghost. No calls from Marcus. It was the longest I’d gone without a threat in weeks.

Maybe Caius was right. Maybe I could finally sleep.

I reached my floor and walked toward my door, but I stopped at 3205. The door was closed, but I could hear music playing softly from inside—classical. Vivaldi. It was elegant and peaceful.

I went into my own apartment and locked the three deadbolts I’d had installed that afternoon. I leaned against the door, closing my eyes. 

“I was probably overthinking things last night,” I let out a sigh of relief. It was good to be this much at peace, yet it left me somewhat unsettled.

I walked to my kitchen island to drop my keys. My eyes fell on my laptop, which I’d left open.

The screen wasn't on my editing software anymore.

It was a video file. A recording from a camera I didn't recognize.

My heart thudded as I pressed play.

The footage was grainy, taken from a high angle. It was the café I had been at today. I saw myself sitting at the corner table, my laptop open, a latte untouched beside me. But then, the camera zoomed in.

It wasn't focusing on me. It was focusing on the man sitting three tables behind me.

It was Caius. Had he followed me to the cafe? No, that wasn't possible. Caius couldn't be TheGhost.

I lunged for the curtains, ripping them open to look at the building across the street, but there was nothing there. I turned back to my front door.

I looked through the peephole.

Caius was standing in the hallway. He wasn't looking at his own door. He was standing directly in front of mine, his face inches from the lens. He raised his hand and tapped twice on the wood.

"Elio?" his baritone voice drifted through the door, sweet as honey. "I think you dropped something in the lobby."

He held up my camera lens cap. The one I had taken out with me today.

I backed away from the door, my breath hitching in my throat, but as I tripped over my own suitcase, my hand brushed the wall—and felt a small, hard bump behind the wallpaper. I peeled back the corner of the floral print, my blood turning to ice. In the drywall was a tiny, blinking red light. A camera. And next to it, written in fresh black ink on the concrete, were four words: 

YOU CAN'T ESCAPE ME.