michmichiannika
The city was alive with the hum of midnight traffic, neon lights flickering over rain-slicked streets. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed from a rooftop party, a sharp contrast to the chilling stillness that surrounded her.
Annika Sandhu tightened her grip on her coat as she stepped out of her office building. The night smelled like damp earth and something else-something that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. A gut feeling. A warning.
She wasn't alone.
Her instincts had never failed her before. Being a woman in a world that never handed anything freely had sharpened her senses like a blade. And right now, they were screaming.
She turned, scanning the street. Nothing. Just an empty sidewalk, the faint buzz of a streetlight overhead. But that didn't mean she wasn't being watched.
A shadow lurked beyond the alley, unmoving. Calculated.
The first real sign of danger.
Annika exhaled slowly, refusing to show fear. Fear made you weak. And she wasn't weak.
"Bad night for stalking women," she said aloud, her voice sharp, daring. A challenge.
No response.
Coward.
Rolling her eyes, she walked forward, her heels clicking against the pavement. If someone wanted to follow her, let them. They'd regret it.
What she didn't know was that two sets of eyes were watching her that night.
One from the darkness.
And one from the top floor of a black SUV parked across the street.
Damian Sprouse leaned back in his seat, swirling a glass of whiskey as he watched her.
His jaw tightened.
She moved differently than the women he knew. She wasn't fragile or hesitant. She was fire, a storm wrapped in a deceptively soft exterior.
She didn't know it yet, but she was already his.
Even if she ran, even if she fought-he'd never let her go.
And if anyone else dared to try?
They'd be buried before sunrise.