Chapter 2 His Voice, Her Chaos

Alina didn't sleep.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but its ghost still echoed in her ears. Her apartment-if you could call it that-was one room, a rusted lock, and a constant draft. She lay on the creaky mattress, phone clutched in her hand, screen black.

The message haunted her.

You shouldn't walk home alone tonight, Alina.

No name. No reply when she called. Just those words-and the quiet, suffocating certainty that someone out there knew too much.

Was it Damien?

He hadn't asked her name.

She was sure of that. And yet...

She pulled the covers over her head like that could block the unease wrapping around her chest.

By morning, the storm had moved on. The sun was out. Her nerves? Not so much.

Alina dressed in silence-tight black jeans, a loose hoodie, and the only boots she had that didn't leak. She walked with headphones in but no music playing, just in case. Just in case someone followed her. Just in case someone whispered her name again.

The city didn't care. It never did.

She was halfway to the café she worked at when she saw it.

A car. Same one. Same sleek black paint and tinted windows. Parked across the street, engine off, like it belonged there.

She froze mid-step.

Then the passenger window rolled down.

And Damien was inside.

"You always look this angry in the morning," he said casually, "or is this special just for me?"

Alina blinked. "How the hell do you keep finding me?"

"I wasn't looking," he said, which was obviously a lie. "I just remembered you mentioned coffee yesterday. Thought I'd try my luck."

"I didn't mention coffee."

He smiled. "You looked like someone who needed some."

"You looked like someone who needed a better hobby."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "Your words are knives."

"Maybe you should duck."

She turned to walk away. She wasn't doing this. Not again.

But then he said it. Quietly.

"Did you get the message last night?"

Her footsteps faltered.

He had no right to ask that.

She turned slowly. "Was that you?"

He didn't answer. Didn't smile. Just studied her like she was a puzzle with one missing piece.

Alina crossed the street, fury rising. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you ever text me again-"

"I didn't send the message," he said calmly.

"Then how do you know about it?"

"Because I was watching."

Her heart stopped.

Damien stepped out of the car, tall and unshakable, casting a shadow that seemed to follow her even when she stepped away.

"I wasn't following you," he added. "I was watching someone else."

She stared. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It should. Because the man I was watching... wasn't watching me. He was watching you."

Silence fell between them.

He took another step closer. "I wanted to see if you got home safe."

"Why?" she whispered.

He hesitated.

And for the first time, his face didn't look amused. It looked... tired. Like he'd been fighting something for a long time and was finally losing.

"I owe someone," he said simply. "And you remind me of her."

Alina's chest ached. She didn't ask who. She didn't want to know. Because the way he said it-quiet, broken-it was the kind of pain that doesn't heal.

She could relate.

"I'm late for work," she said, softer this time.

"I'll walk you," Damien offered.

"No."

"I'm not asking."

She narrowed her eyes. "And I'm not interested in stalker-chic today."

He smiled, just slightly. "You will be. Eventually."

"You're infuriating."

"And you're complicated," he said, keeping pace beside her. "Which is exactly my type."

Alina laughed before she could stop herself.

He glanced at her. "There it is."

"What?"

"That smile I had to suffer through rain and rejection to see."

She shook her head, fighting another grin. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm persistent."

"Same thing."

The café came into view-small, cozy, and already buzzing with noise. She reached the door and paused, turning to him.

"This is where I say goodbye."

"For now," Damien said easily. "You can return the favor tonight. Dinner."

"Not a chance."

He just shrugged like that was a yes, and walked off

Her shift dragged. She kept checking her phone. No new texts. No new threats. No Damien.

But by the time the sun dipped behind the buildings, she felt it again-that heaviness.

That someone was watching.

She stepped out the back door after closing, hoodie zipped up, nerves on edge.

"Need a ride?"

Her head snapped up.

Damien leaned against his car again, this time with two takeout bags in hand.

"Dinner," he said, lifting the bags. "Since you skipped lunch."

Alina should've said no. She should've walked away.

But instead, she asked, "What's in the bag?"

"Something hot. Something safe."

"You're a strange man, Damien."

"And you're a dangerously interesting woman."

---

They ate on the hood of his car. She didn't ask where he lived. He didn't ask what she was running from. They shared food, and silence, and sarcasm.

It almost felt normal.

Until a phone rang.

Not hers.

Damien glanced at the screen-and went still.

"Who is it?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Just held up the phone so she could see.

Unknown number. One message.

She shouldn't be with you. He's coming.

Chapter Two: His Voice, Her Chaos

Alina didn't sleep.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but its ghost still echoed in her ears. Her apartment-if you could call it that-was one room, a rusted lock, and a constant draft. She lay on the creaky mattress, phone clutched in her hand, screen black.

The message haunted her.

You shouldn't walk home alone tonight, Alina.

No name. No reply when she called. Just those words-and the quiet, suffocating certainty that someone out there knew too much.

Was it Damien?

He hadn't asked her name.

She was sure of that. And yet...

She pulled the covers over her head like that could block the unease wrapping around her chest.

By morning, the storm had moved on. The sun was out. Her nerves? Not so much.

Alina dressed in silence-tight black jeans, a loose hoodie, and the only boots she had that didn't leak. She walked with headphones in but no music playing, just in case. Just in case someone followed her. Just in case someone whispered her name again.

The city didn't care. It never did.

She was halfway to the café she worked at when she saw it.

A car. Same one. Same sleek black paint and tinted windows. Parked across the street, engine off, like it belonged there.

She froze mid-step.

Then the passenger window rolled down.

And Damien was inside.

"You always look this angry in the morning," he said casually, "or is this special just for me?"

Alina blinked. "How the hell do you keep finding me?"

"I wasn't looking," he said, which was obviously a lie. "I just remembered you mentioned coffee yesterday. Thought I'd try my luck."

"I didn't mention coffee."

He smiled. "You looked like someone who needed some."

"You looked like someone who needed a better hobby."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "Your words are knives."

"Maybe you should duck."

She turned to walk away. She wasn't doing this. Not again.

But then he said it. Quietly.

"Did you get the message last night?"

Her footsteps faltered.

He had no right to ask that.

She turned slowly. "Was that you?"

He didn't answer. Didn't smile. Just studied her like she was a puzzle with one missing piece.

Alina crossed the street, fury rising. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you ever text me again-"

"I didn't send the message," he said calmly.

"Then how do you know about it?"

"Because I was watching."

Her heart stopped.

Damien stepped out of the car, tall and unshakable, casting a shadow that seemed to follow her even when she stepped away.

"I wasn't following you," he added. "I was watching someone else."

She stared. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It should. Because the man I was watching... wasn't watching me. He was watching you."

Silence fell between them.

He took another step closer. "I wanted to see if you got home safe."

"Why?" she whispered.

He hesitated.

And for the first time, his face didn't look amused. It looked... tired. Like he'd been fighting something for a long time and was finally losing.

"I owe someone," he said simply. "And you remind me of her."

Alina's chest ached. She didn't ask who. She didn't want to know. Because the way he said it-quiet, broken-it was the kind of pain that doesn't heal.

She could relate.

"I'm late for work," she said, softer this time.

"I'll walk you," Damien offered.

"No."

"I'm not asking."

She narrowed her eyes. "And I'm not interested in stalker-chic today."

He smiled, just slightly. "You will be. Eventually."

"You're infuriating."

"And you're complicated," he said, keeping pace beside her. "Which is exactly my type."

Alina laughed before she could stop herself.

He glanced at her. "There it is."

"What?"

"That smile I had to suffer through rain and rejection to see."

She shook her head, fighting another grin. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm persistent."

"Same thing."

The café came into view-small, cozy, and already buzzing with noise. She reached the door and paused, turning to him.

"This is where I say goodbye."

"For now," Damien said easily. "You can return the favor tonight. Dinner."

"Not a chance."

He just shrugged like that was a yes, and walked off

Her shift dragged. She kept checking her phone. No new texts. No new threats. No Damien.

But by the time the sun dipped behind the buildings, she felt it again-that heaviness.

That someone was watching.

She stepped out the back door after closing, hoodie zipped up, nerves on edge.

"Need a ride?"

Her head snapped up.

Damien leaned against his car again, this time with two takeout bags in hand.

"Dinner," he said, lifting the bags. "Since you skipped lunch."

Alina should've said no. She should've walked away.

But instead, she asked, "What's in the bag?"

"Something hot. Something safe."

"You're a strange man, Damien."

"And you're a dangerously interesting woman."

---

They ate on the hood of his car. She didn't ask where he lived. He didn't ask what she was running from. They shared food, and silence, and sarcasm.

It almost felt normal.

Until a phone rang.

Not hers.

Damien glanced at the screen-and went still.

"Who is it?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Just held up the phone so she could see.

Unknown number. One message.

She shouldn't be with you. He's coming.