The article is brief and clinical. Just another missing person in a city full of disappearances. But I know the truth now. Jennifer didn’t just vanish. She was taken.
My legs give out, and I sink into Dante’s leather chair, folders scattered across the desk. The room spins around me as the full horror of what I’m seeing crashes over me.
I wasn’t his only victim. I was just the one he kept.
These women—Sarah, Claire, Jennifer—they were his practice runs. His experiments in obsession and control. And when he was done with them…
I grab the trash can and vomit until there’s nothing left.
When I can breathe again, I force myself to look through the rest of the files. More letters, more photos, more evidence of systematic stalking. Some of the documentation goes back years. Dante didn’t just decide to become a monster when he met me. He’d been perfecting his techniques for a long time.
At the very bottom of Jennifer’s folder is a small plastic bag containing something that makes my vision blur.
A lock of brown hair tied with a pink ribbon.
I stumble out of the study and lock the door behind me, the key slipping through my sweat-slick fingers. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and try to remember how to breathe.
Two years. Two years I thought I was special, that his obsession with me meant something twisted but unique. Two years I believed I was the only one who’d experienced his particular brand of psychological torture.
But I wasn’t special. I was just next in line.
And somewhere in New York, Sarah Carson is still going about her life, completely unaware that a dead man’s files contain months of surveillance photos and love letters written by a stalker.
The drive back to the estate with Lionel feels endless. I clutch the three folders against my chest in the back seat, watching familiar landmarks blur past. Twenty minutes that stretch like hours while I process what I’ve discovered.
Lionel keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, but doesn’t ask questions. Professional discretion, probably, though I can see the concern in his eyes.
When we finally reach the estate gates, I’m out of the car before he’s fully parked.
“Mrs. Moretti?” Lionel says, hurrying to catch up as I rush toward the front doors. “Are you alright?”
I look up to find him standing at the end of the hallway, concern written across his face.
“I need to see my husband,” I manage. “Right now.”
“Of course. He’s in his office.”
Within minutes, I’m standing in Alaric’s office doorway while he finishes a phone call. Tony Torrino is sprawled in one of the chairs, but I don’t care about interrupting their meeting.
“Kasimira?” Alaric takes one look at my face and ends his call immediately. “What happened?”
I’m holding the three folders, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
“I found something in Dante’s study. Something you need to see.”
“Tony, we’ll finish this later,” Alaric says without taking his eyes off me.
“Sure thing.” Tony stands and pauses beside me on his way out. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.”
If only it were that simple.
When we’re alone, Alaric crosses to me in three quick strides. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I set the folders on his desk with hands that feel disconnected from my body.
“He didn’t just hurt me,” I whisper. “There were others. Are others.”
Alaric opens the first folder, and I watch his expression change as he takes in the surveillance photos, the stolen documents, the obsessive letters.
