I dumped the trash and made my way back to the Midtown Performance building, the cold, damp air biting through the fabric of my hoodie. Nothing seemed amiss as I slipped back inside. My footsteps echoed faintly as I made my way to the place that had become my cave.
From somewhere down the hallway, behind a thick studio door, came the faint thump of a drum and the muted crash of cymbals—some band rehearsing at this ungodly hour. The soundproofing swallowed most of it, but at night, when everything else was quiet, the music could be heard clearly. It made the building feel alive. This place certainly lived up to its twenty-four-hour billing.
I crawled into my hiding spot and curled up, putting my backpack under my head and draping the coat over my body. The floor was still cold, still hard. The music faded as I closed my eyes and began drifting away.
I hoped I could outlast this. Maybe Delgado would get bored. Maybe my stalker would finally give up; although, the part of me that was drawn to danger didn’t want him to.
I exhaled and let the shadows have me for one more night.
Chapter twenty-four
Finally—after more than forty-eight hours—I got a hit. The app I’d been using to hunt for Lyla’s phone chimed loudly.
I bolted upright, the adrenaline hitting faster than any alarm ever could. Nearly two full days had passed without much sleep. I’d finally lay down for a brief nap—just enough to keep my brain from combusting. The moment the notification blared, I threw off the covers and jogged barefoot to the IT room.
With my fingers flying across the keyboard, I reviewed the data coming in as it traced her digital signature.
She’d been keeping all her location services disabled. Smart. That left me tracking her phone by its serial number through her wireless carrier—a much more difficult proposition.
My app had picked up her trail when her phone powered on, but it hadn’t been on long enough to allow the program to lock in on a precise location. And just like that, she was gone again.
Still, the path it had followed confirmed something important: her phone was functioning, and it was in Manhattan, in the area of the Theater District and Hell’s Kitchen—which made sense.
At this point, I had no reason to believe the person operating that phone was anyone other than Lyla herself.
When I’d called Carmine several days ago, all he’d been able to tell me was that Lyla said she was going back to Tennessee, but I hadn’t believed it for a second.
Earlier, I’d checked every flight, train, and bus out of the city—searching the logs for both of her aliases—to no avail. The girl hadn’t gone anywhere.
She’d also left a note for her roommates, and they’d both texted her multiple times since. The program indicated she’d opened those texts only minutes ago.
I pivoted fast, analyzing Nat and Jae’s metadata trails, checking for read receipts or any digital fingerprints I could trace back to Lyla. Still nothing. She’d turned her phone on just long enough to check the messages, then shut it off before my system could bite down.
If she was still in Manhattan, it meant she hadn’t let go of the one thing she’d come here for: the damn show she’d gotten hired to work for.
I texted Henri and the team—told them to return to Playwrights Haven and sweep it all again.
Meanwhile, I reviewed everything I had yet again. I couldn’t explain the compulsion to keep going over the data—not in a way that made sense.
I’d tried to push her away. To convince her that returning to her tiny town in the Tennessee hills would be the best thing for her.
But she hadn’t listened.
And now, she was in more danger than ever before.
God, she’d awakened something in me. There was something about her I couldn’t pin down.
Her natural sunshine, the baby-pink sweaters, the way she’d called me out with a smirk and fire in her eyes… She was too sincere, too trusting for a man like me.
But under the surface lurked something darker—a curiosity she herself didn’t even understand yet, the kind that made it clear she wanted to betaken, notaskedby a man she should fear. She wanted to be thoroughly ruined, like in those dark romance books she read.
For me, the question was: would she be my virtue or my vice?
I’d never wanted anything to do with a relationship that required commitment. Couldn’t imagine trusting a woman enough to share my true nature, let alone a sliver of the world I actually lived in. I’d stayed a recluse to survive, working clandestinely for years to build a different life for myself and my twin sister. The irony of that ambition wasn’t lost on me when she’d found a way out on her own. Ana had found something idyllic—a man who treated her like a queen and helped her heal the scars she carried.
I had everything money could buy—power to move the world, no borders, no rules.
For most men, that would’ve been the ultimate success.
