I reach the service door. Locked. Adorable.
I don’t rush. I trace the seam of the door, feeling the vibration of the alarm system. It’s a joke. I work the lock with the patience of a man who has nothing but time and a very long list of sins. When it gives, it’s with a soft, wet click.
Inside, the villa smells like her. And it smells like him. The mix makes me want to start a fire.
I move through the house, shoes silent on the marble, eyes cataloguing the expensive, useless shit Noah bought to impress her. Her room is easy to find. It’s the one that feels like a tomb.
I stop outside the door. My pulse is a riot. My ribs feel too small for the violence inside me. I close my eyes and imagine her face when she realises I’m not a memory anymore.
I open the door.
She’s not there.
Good. I want to leave a scent. I want her to feel the haunting.
I step inside. The room is staged perfection. A dress is laid out on the bed—white, lace, pure. A fucking joke. I walk over to it. I run a hand over the fabric, then I grip it and rip. Just a small tear at the hem. A reminder.
“You feel me, don’t you,” I whisper to the empty room. “That itch under your skin. That’s me, Scarlett. I’m the blood in your veins.”
I leave the balcony door hanging open. Let the humidity in. Let the jungle reclaim the room.
Down the hall, I hear voices. His voice.
He’s talking about Sunday. The wedding. The merger.
I imagine stopping his heart mid-sentence. I imagine the look in his eyes when he realises he’s dying for a woman who doesn’t even remember his name when I’m in the room.
I slip back out, back into the trees, until I have the villa in full view.
The balcony doors slide open.
There she is.
Blue dress. Bare feet. Hands gripping the railing so hard her knuckles are white stones. She looks out into the dark—directly at me. She can’t see me, but she knows.
Then, Noah steps up behind her.
He puts his hand on the small of her back.
My vision goes red. A literal, pulsing red at the edges.
“Take your hand off her,” I rasp, the sound low and feral. “That’s not where you get to stand, your a dead man walking.”
She stiffens. She doesn’t pull away from him, but she leans toward the dark. Toward me.
I grin.
Look at the jungle, Scarlett. Look at the monster who loves you.
I pull my phone out one last time.
I can see his hand on you.
I’m going to break every finger he used to touch you.
Count to ten. Then look for me.
I send it.
