**Paris, 1971.**
It started on an overcast afternoon in the dim corner of a café. The air was thick with the smell of roasting beans and rain-slicked streets, but all Vincent could focus on was the man sitting near the window, his head turned slightly toward the light as if he belonged to it. Rody’s hair, auburn and wild, caught the grey light in soft strands, messy but almost intentionally so. There was a careless grace to him, a rugged charm that made Vincent's heart lurch.
Vincent hadn’t meant to stare, but the moment he saw Rody, he was transfixed. He watched him sip his coffee, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over the small table, lost in some quiet reverie. The light framed Rody perfectly, making him seem untouchable yet strangely familiar, like a dream Vincent had never fully awakened from.
But then, she arrived.
Manon slid into the seat across from Rody, her laughter filling the space like bells chiming in a distant tower. Rody’s face lit up when he saw her, a warm smile spreading across his lips as he leaned in close, whispering something that made her giggle. They looked perfect together. Too perfect.
Something sharp twisted in Vincent’s chest, a seed of jealousy so bitter he could taste it. He didn’t even know Rody—hadn’t even spoken to him—but the sight of them together made Vincent want to rip the world apart.
For weeks, Vincent kept returning to the café, watching from the same corner, listening to their conversations, observing every detail. Rody’s relationship with Manon seemed solid, but Vincent had always been good at finding cracks. He began to notice the little things—how Manon would frown when Rody wasn't looking, how sometimes Rody’s smile seemed a bit too forced. Vincent convinced himself that Manon wasn’t good enough for him. She didn’t see Rody for who he truly was. She wasn’t *worthy* of him.
One night, after following them from the café, Vincent cornered Manon just outside her apartment. The streetlights cast long shadows over Vincent’s sharp features, and when he stepped from the darkness, Manon gasped, startled.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice faltering as she took a cautious step back.
“I want you to leave him,” Vincent said, his voice cold and deliberate, his black eyes boring into hers. “You don’t deserve him.”
Manon blinked, confusion and fear washing over her face. “What are you talking about? Who even are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Vincent murmured, stepping closer. “What matters is what happens next. You’re going to break up with Rody. Tonight.”
Her expression hardened with defiance. “And if I don’t?”
Vincent leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it. I know where you work. I know where you live. I will make your life hell if you stay with him.”
Manon paled. She could tell Vincent wasn’t bluffing. His presence was like a black hole—something terrifying and inescapable. Without another word, she nodded and hurried into her building.
The next day, Rody sat alone in the café, his usual table for two now empty. Vincent watched as Rody’s face remained expressionless, though his fingers twitched nervously around the rim of his cup. The breakup must have stung, but Rody didn't look devastated. Instead, he seemed... lost.
And that’s when Vincent made his move.
---
At first, it was simple—harmless, even. Vincent would come into the café, striking up casual conversations with Rody. He learned about Rody’s life, his work, how much he missed Manon but didn’t understand why she left so abruptly. Vincent soothed him, telling him he was better off without her, that sometimes people didn’t see what they had until it was too late.
