A D E L I N E

The rhythmic tapping of my keyboard fills the quiet space of my apartment, the only company I have at this hour. The clock on the wall reads past midnight, but sleep is a foreign concept when inspiration strikes. I stretch my fingers before diving back into my manuscript, my mind lost in the dark world of obsession and desire I've created.

My stories always tend to lean toward the twisted-men who are cruel, obsessive, and unrelenting in their pursuit of the women they claim. Perhaps that's why my books sell so well. Readers crave the forbidden just as much as I do.

The glow from my laptop screen casts soft shadows across my desk, illuminating the stacks of books beside me. Whispers in the dark sits at the top, a constant reminder of the story that first pulled me into this genre. I sip my now-cold coffee, my thoughts drifting.

I live alone. Have for years. It's peaceful, quiet. Safe.

And yet...

A shiver runs down my spine, an inexplicable sense of unease creeping in. My apartment is secure-locks, alarms, everything-but sometimes, in the dead of night, I feel as if I'm not alone.

Brushing the thought away, I shake my head. Stop overthinking, Adeline.

I glance at the word count. Still short of my goal. With a sigh, I crack my knuckles and refocus, determined to lose myself in my fictional world once more.

---

Morning comes far too soon, sunlight filtering through my curtains, casting golden rays across my bed. I groan, rolling onto my side and clutching my pillow. I'd stayed up too late writing again, and my body hates me for it.

Eventually, I drag myself out of bed, making my way to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. The apartment is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath my feet.

Settling onto my couch, I curl up with my mug in hand, staring out the window. The city moves on without me, people rushing to work, cars honking in the distance. It's a strange feeling, being so disconnected from the outside world. I spend most of my time in my own little bubble, my books and my words keeping me company.

But lately, that bubble has felt...thin. Fragile. Like it could pop at any moment.

With a deep breath, I shake off the thought. I'm just being paranoid. That's what happens when you write about obsessive men and sinister desires. It messes with your head.

Still, as I sip my coffee, I can't help but glance toward the door, as if expecting someone to be on the other side.

Later that evening, I decide to go out. I need fresh air, a break from the constant loop of my own thoughts. Throwing on a sweater, I grab my keys and head to a nearby café.

The warm scent of coffee and baked goods greets me as I step inside. I order my usual-a vanilla latte-before settling into a corner booth, my laptop open in front of me.

As I type, I become aware of something. Or someone.

A presence.

Lifting my gaze, I scan the café. People are scattered throughout, lost in their own worlds. No one is looking at me.

And yet, I feel it.

That lingering weight of being watched.

A chill runs through me, but I shake it off.

You're imagining things, Adeline.

I return to my writing, but the sensation doesn't fade. It clings to me, wrapping around my skin like an invisible chain.

And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if my quiet little life is as safe as I thought it was.

The feeling doesn't go away.

Even as I refocus on my laptop, my fingers poised over the keys, my mind isn't fully present. It lingers on that unsettling sensation, that eerie sense of being watched.

I force myself to take a deep breath, pressing my palm against the smooth surface of my laptop. It's nothing, I tell myself. You're just being paranoid.

I glance up again. The café is filled with the same people as before-students hunched over textbooks, couples sharing quiet conversations, baristas rushing to fill orders. Normal. Ordinary.

And yet...

My eyes catch on a man near the entrance, dressed in dark clothing, his broad shoulders tense as he scrolls through his phone. His posture is relaxed, but something about him feels off.

My stomach tightens.

Maybe it's the way he hasn't touched the coffee sitting in front of him. Maybe it's the way he occasionally lifts his gaze, not directly at me, but just enough that I catch the flicker of his attention.

I swallow hard, tearing my gaze away. Relax, Adeline.

I shake my head, forcing my fingers to move over the keyboard again. I'm being ridiculous. This is what happens when I spend too much time in my own head, crafting dark, obsessive romances. The lines between fiction and reality blur.

I try to lose myself in my writing, but it's impossible now.

I feel it.

The weight of unseen eyes.

I glance toward the window beside me, looking at my own reflection in the dark glass. A shiver runs down my spine. Because for a split second, I swear I see a shadowed figure standing behind me.

I spin around.

Nothing.

Just the empty booth behind me.

My breathing is unsteady. I slam my laptop shut, shove it into my bag, and grab my coffee. It's fine. You're fine. I repeat the words over and over in my head, but my body doesn't believe them.

I leave the café quickly, stepping out into the crisp night air. My building is only a few blocks away. I can walk.

I tug my sweater tighter around myself as I make my way down the dimly lit street. The city hums around me-distant sirens, muffled conversations, footsteps echoing in the night.

And then...

Another sound.

Footsteps.

At first, I think it's just someone walking behind me, heading in the same direction. But as I turn a corner, I hear it again. Closer this time.

I quicken my pace.

The footsteps match mine.

I don't dare look back. My heart slams against my ribs as adrenaline surges through my veins. I clutch my bag, my pulse roaring in my ears.

I reach my building and fumble with my keys, my breath shallow as I shove the door open and step inside. I shut it behind me and press my back against the cool metal.

Silence.

I force myself to exhale. Maybe I imagined it.

Just my mind playing tricks on me.

Still, as I step into the elevator and press the button for my floor, I can't shake the feeling that someone was there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And I have a terrifying suspicion that this is only the beginning.

──────❀🌹❀──────