Chapter 2 The Stranger In The Dark

Celeste couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She had always been logical. She didn’t let fear control her. But after weeks of black roses, missing objects, and the whisper of her name spoken into the wind, her world felt like it was beginning to tilt. It wasn’t just the paranoia creeping into her chest like ivy wrapping around her lungs—it was the silence. The waiting. Whoever he was, he wasn’t rushing. He was patient. She stepped into Blackwood Café, the small coffee shop just a few blocks from her apartment. The warm scent of espresso and vanilla filled the air, offering her a sense of normalcy. She needed something familiar. Something to remind her that she was being irrational. It was nothing. It had to be. She ordered her usual—a vanilla chai latte with oat milk—and took a seat in the corner, her back against the wall. Always facing the door. It was a habit she hadn’t realized she had developed until now. And that’s when she saw him. At first, she thought it was coincidence. The man who entered the café was impossibly striking. He was the kind of presence that commanded attention without asking for it—broad shoulders, golden-brown skin marked with the hint of ink curling up his forearms, and long, dark hair pulled into a loose bun. His face was all sharp angles, his mouth firm, his eyes… Too familiar. Her stomach twisted, a pulse of unease skittering down her spine. He hadn’t looked at her yet. Not directly. She should have felt relief. But instead, her fingers curled tighter around the ceramic mug in her hands, heart hammering against her ribs. Something about him felt like a warning. He approached the counter, placing his order—something low and smooth exchanged between him and the barista. Then, as if the moment had been carefully orchestrated, his gaze lifted. Straight to her. A dark, unreadable expression flickered across his face. Then, slowly, he smiled. Celeste’s throat tightened. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was something else entirely. A secret. A promise. A trap. "Mind if I sit?" His voice was rich, deep, like warm honey laced with something dangerous. She should have said no. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to leave. But her lips parted, and a single word slipped out. "Sure." Celeste couldn’t place it, but something about him felt too deliberate. His presence was the kind that filled a space without effort, drawing eyes without asking for attention. But unlike the women sitting near the counter who had stolen glances at him, whispering behind their cups, Celeste wasn’t fascinated. She was unnerved. He sat across from her, setting down a black coffee. He hadn’t even asked her name, yet something in his expression told her he already knew it. “I don’t normally come here,” he said, leaning back in the chair as if he belonged there. As if he belonged anywhere. “But I think I’ll start.” She swallowed, her fingers tightening around her mug. “It’s a good place,” she said carefully. “Quiet.” He smiled at that, but something flickered in his eyes. “That’s what I like about it.” There was a slight pause, one too precise to be accidental. A test. Her pulse quickened. His gaze flickered to the side, taking her in with a kind of leisurely intent—not just an assessment, but an understanding. Like he already knew how she’d react before she did. Celeste forced herself to steady her breathing. This was just a conversation. A strange, unsettling conversation, but nothing more. And yet… There was something about the way he looked at her that made her second-guess that. As if she had already lost a battle she didn’t know she was fighting. “So, do you always sit facing the door?” His tone was smooth, almost amused, like he had already figured out the answer. She stiffened. “What?” “Your seat,” he gestured slightly. “You’re angled toward the entrance. Even though the view isn’t great.” Her fingers twitched. “I—I just like seeing who comes in.” He made a soft noise, tilting his head. “Or maybe you’re just used to looking over your shoulder.” A shiver ran down her spine. There was no reason for that statement to unsettle her. It was just a comment, just an observation. So why did it feel like a challenge? “I don’t think I caught your name,” she said quickly, shifting the subject. “Dominic.” His lips curled as he said it, like he enjoyed how the name sat in the space between them. Like he enjoyed making her say it. Dominic. It was a strong name. Heavy. The kind of name that wasn’t just said—it was felt. She hesitated before offering her own. “Celeste.” He exhaled like he was tasting it. “Celeste.” She wasn’t sure why, but hearing him say it made her feel something sharp and unspoken unfurl in her chest. It was unsettling. No—he was unsettling. "Funny," Dominic said, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. "I feel like I’ve seen you before." Celeste’s stomach dropped. No. No, he hadn’t. That wasn’t possible. Except—it was. She had felt it for weeks. That presence, the sensation of being watched, the whispers in the dark. The black roses. The closet door left open. The fact that nothing had ever been missing, just… moved. A cold sweat formed along her back. “I—I don’t think so,” she said carefully. But he just smiled, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. "Maybe I’m mistaken. But then again…" He tilted his head, watching her too closely. “Maybe you just have one of those faces.” Something about the way he said it made her doubt herself. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she was being paranoid. But deep inside, she knew better. This wasn’t a random encounter. He was here for her. And yet… she didn’t move. Didn’t run. Because he wasn’t telling her to stay—but he wasn’t letting her leave either. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were pressing in. Celeste placed her hands on the table, ready to excuse herself—to walk away from whatever this was. But Dominic leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, softer. Dangerous. "You’re not scared of me, are you?" She stilled. A second too long. And that was all it took for Dominic to see right through her. His smile deepened, slow and deliberate, as if he had just confirmed something important. As if she had just given something away. "I should go," she said quickly, standing too fast, the chair scraping against the floor. But before she could move— His hand caught her wrist. Gently. Not forceful. Just enough to make her heart stutter in her chest. Celeste froze. The heat of his skin against hers sent a sharp jolt up her spine. His grip was loose, effortless. If she wanted to pull away, she could. But she didn’t. And he knew it. The corners of his lips twitched. Victory. "See you around, Celeste." A statement. A promise. And just like that—he let go.