I can see you

Chapter 19

(EDWARD'S POV)

The next morning, I expected her to be curled against me when I woke. Still asleep, maybe whispering my name in that broken, breathy way she had the night before. Part of me even expected the warmth of her lips on my neck, her arms clinging tighter like I might disappear if she loosened her grip.

But the bed was cold beside me.

I blinked, adjusting to the pale morning light slipping through the open door. She was already up and dressed, standing by the door with her back turned, sipping coffee from one of the mugs, the chipped one with the faded red pattern.

The way she held it was casual and steady like she'd always lived here. Like she belonged. Everything about her felt different in daylight. She was softer and simpler but maybe more dangerous too.

She didn't say good morning. She just smiled and said, "Get dressed babe we're leaving."

I sat up slowly, my heartbeat pounding low and steady. Last night flickered through me in broken, vivid fragments-her skin, her breath, my hands. Her phone, the video, the ghost file, Riya.

All of it tangled inside me like barbed wire. My chest tightened. I pushed myself upright, and said slow and carefully, "You're... letting me go?"

She turned, her expression unreadable, eyebrows raised like I'd asked a stupid question. "Letting you go?" she echoed.

She set the mug down. "You were never a prisoner Edward," she said, as if the ropes, the drugs, the hidden cameras had all been romantic gestures. As if in her head, none of it was control. It was love.

I blinked. "What are you talking about?"

She walked over and stopped at the edge of the bed. "The door was never locked," she said. "You know that. You could've left anytime but you didn't."

I stared at her, searching for the trap hidden between the words. My stomach twisted in a way I hated. She was changing the game. She was not dragging me anymore but letting me lead. And somehow, that was worse.

"You wanted to be here," she said. "And you stayed."

She wasn't wrong.

But hearing her say it like that, like she was the one in control burned. Like I hadn't been the one watching her for years, learning her movements, memorizing every routine. Like I hadn't pulled the strings. Like I hadn't started this.

"You don't get it," I said quietly.

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a problem she'd already solved. "Don't I?"

I looked away.

The thought of her leaving-of her actually letting me go-hit harder than I expected.
I'd built my entire world around her.
Watched her windows light up at night. Counted her steps on the staircase. Memorized her laugh through the thin apartment walls. If she walked away now, what would be left?

She tossed a duffel bag onto the bed. "We're going to your place."

I looked up, caught off guard. "My place?"

She smiled, a small and deliberate curve of her lips. "You wanted to be close to me," she said. "Congratulations. Now you will be."

And then she walked out of the room, her footsteps soft, sure, full of the kind of confidence that only comes from winning a game you weren't even supposed to be playing. And I sat there, still half-wrapped in the blanket, wondering if I'd just won or if I'd been caught in the moment I thought I was free.

I was supposed to kill Riya today. That was the plan but plans didn't matter when she was the one holding the steering wheel. I'd wait for now.

---

She handed me my phone like it was a loaded gun. There was no fear in her eyes or tremble in her hand. And that told me everything I needed to know. She hadn't opened it. Not because of the passcode. She was clever and curious. And curiosity is its own kind of master key but if she'd seen what was inside...

We wouldn't be playing this calm little game. She'd be screaming, crying , bleeding. Or worse-I would be.

Instead, I took the phone, gave her a slow nod, and slipped into the passenger seat of her car. She started the engine without a word, her jaw tight, her hands gripping the wheel a little too hard.

"I'll drop you off first," she said, her eyes locked on the road. "Then I'll go back and pack my stuff." No questions or accusations yet but the quiet between us buzzed like a live wire.

As I stepped inside my house, the silence was different. It was thick, familiar and mine but I didn't let it comfort me. Relief was how people got caught, so I went straight to work.

First, I cloned my phone's data to a hidden drive, triple encrypted and buried six folders deep. If she ever got curious again, she'd find nothing but the curated, boring version of me. The mask.

Then I cleaned the house. Literally. Every blade, every vial, every photo, every old memory stashed under floorboards. Every tool that had touched skin be it mine or someone else's was gone within minutes. Buried like the others.

But even after I scrubbed every surface and buried every trace, I couldn't shake the unease curling under my skin. She was clever. Too clever and eventually, she'd start asking the wrong questions. The kind that had answers written in blood. The kind of questions no amount of charm or deflection could erase. I told myself I could stay ahead of her like I always had. But a deeper part of me knew the truth that if she found out what I really was, if she ever saw the whole picture, she wouldn't run. Maybe She'd smile and say she understands.

And maybe that's what scared me most. She couldn't know. Not even if she was the reason I started killing in the first place.

---

I was mid-shower when the doorbell rang. Of course. I wrapped a towel around my waist, water still dripping down my back, and opened the door. Rosy stood there, a suitcase in one hand, suspicion in her eyes.

"You're early," I said, keeping my voice light.

"There wasn't much to pack," she said, brushing past me.

Her eyes scanned the space like she was checking for signs of a lie.

"You sound surprised," she added, dropping her bag near the couch. "Were you hiding something?"

My laugh was soft, careful. "Nothing to hide."

That was a lie, and maybe we both knew it. She didn't respond. Just looked around like she was measuring the space. Measuring me. I watched her the way I used to watch animals in traps-tired, but unpredictable.

I didn't trust the silence. She turned to me, suddenly too still. "Were you planning something?" she asked, her voice low, unreadable. "Like... a date?"

Her tone was neutral, but I felt the shift underneath. It was sharp, like a knife behind a smile. I hesitated just long enough to make it awkward.

Then I stepped in close, not because I wanted to but because I needed to. To study her eyes. To test the softness in her voice. To figure out if she still wanted me, or if this was something else.

"I don't plan," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair off her shoulder. "I react."

She didn't lean in. Her breath was fast and her skin flushed but she just looked up at me with that unreadable stillness. And in that moment, I wasn't sure if she was about to kiss me or kill me.

Either way, I didn't move. She smiled like she already knew the ending. That I wasn't going to survive it.