Before him, Winter Cohen had everything - family, freedom and a future. She had dreams and aspirations of being an artist. To have her own gallery, to be a name people remember.
Then he came along, taking everything.
Roman Cross is a monster. A cold...
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Roman caresses the date with his thumb, his expression solemn mirroring that of the sketch. How long has she known he was watching her?
Ever since he started trailing her, she has not once portrayed attributions the intel made her out to be. She's so far from a talentless, air headed and spoiled princess who loves daddy's money.
She's kind and gentle with a soft smile. But in the comfortable of the people she knows, she's playful and bright, loud and spontaneous. That side of her took him by surprise but he liked it. Despite her mundane life, she's young, carefree and happy.
And so goddamn beautiful. The thought rushes out of his thoughts as quickly as it came. No fucking way was he falling for the enemy.
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath and folds the paper back into his pocket.
So many years of rage couldn't have vanished just like that. He waits for the bitterness, the annoyance and the anger to seep into his veins except it doesn't come - not towards her anyways.
Roman huffs and marches out the Ski Lodge. She fucking caught him off guard, he'll admit that. He truly believed he was one step ahead, lurking quietly in the shadows watching her from afar, noting her every movement.
But she knew he was watching. Was she that intuitive? Or does she know who he was? If she did, she won't have accepted his drink so carelessly. She would've know his intentions.
Fury twists in him at the thought of her playing him. This is not a game, many people died because of the actions of her father and many more are going to die if he did not get his revenge.
Roman spots her tiny figure from where he stands. She hasn't gone far from the Ski Lodge. He could still see her stumbling along the road under the street lights. He stalks her with a darken expression as snow descends from the sky.
Within a few strides, she's in arms reach.
Winter loses her footing and falls face first into the snow. A weak whimper echoes from her lips as she struggles to get back onto her feet. Then, she flops down again before collapsing completely onto the ground.
For a moment, he watch her lying there, helpless and afraid. It would be so easy to kill her but years of searching, of pain and humiliation, cannot end with a single bullet. He intends to drag out his revenge and satisfy his hunger for vengeance.
The pain her father caused, he will give it back ten folds.
Roman approaches her disoriented figure and crouches down. His fingers brushes a stand of hair from her face and when his fingertips touch her soft pale skin, the static shock that rocked his body had him reeling back in surprise and confusion.
This is the enemy, Roman reminds him. She has to die.
He snakes his arms around her and lifts her back onto her feet. He could smell the shea butter on her skin and the coconut shampoo in her hair. The smell sticks to him like a bittersweet reminder of what he cannot have. It's filling and addictive and if he didn't let go of her right now, he might become fixated.
