Page 30 of Stalked

With a final nod, he turns and walks out of the gallery, his footsteps echoing against the polished concrete floor until the front door closes behind him.

I sink into my chair, staring at the empty space where he stood. What have I done?

Just like that, I'm heading back to Ravenwood. Back to the town I fled fifteen years ago. Back to where Vane Blackwood is—the man who took my virginity, who marked me in ways I've never been able to erase. The man I ran from without a word, boarding that Greyhound bus with tears streaming down my face, terrified of what I'd felt in his arms.

Fifteen years of carefully constructed distance, of deliberately avoiding any connection to my hometown beyondthe most necessary family visits, and for my friend's wedding, all undone by a single conversation and a number written on a slip of paper.

I pick up the salary offer still sitting on my desk, running my fingers over the ink. Is any amount of money worth facing Vane again? Worth the risk of him discovering I've returned?

The rational part of my brain argues that Ravenwood is bigger now. Perhaps I can avoid him entirely. Perhaps he's forgotten me, moved on.

But deep down, I know better. Men like Vane Blackwood don't forget.

12

VANE

“That one goes over there,” I direct, pointing toward the far corner of the warehouse as the carnival crew unloads crates from the truck. The smell of sawdust and machinery oil hangs in the air, mixing with the scent of sweat from the workers hustling under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Elliot. Finally.

“I need to take this,” I tell Colt, who nods and continues supervising the unloading.

I step outside into the cool evening air, the warehouse's metal door clanging shut behind me.

“Well?” I don't bother with pleasantries.

“She agreed to the terms,” Elliot says, his voice crisp and professional. “Though I had to triple her current salary to seal the deal.”

I lean against the brick wall, a smile spreading across my face. “I told you that's fine. Whatever it took.”

Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years I've been tracking her movements, watching her career unfold from a distance. The moment I learned she'd established herself in the New York artscene, I knew exactly how to bring her back. The gallery was just the beginning—a perfect excuse to lure her home.

“And the penthouse?” I ask, though I already know the answer. No one could resist that view, especially at the price I instructed Elliot to offer.

“Yes, she took it without much hesitation. Seemed quite impressed, actually.”

I chuckle. “Of course she was.”

Little does she know she'll be living in my building. In my penthouse. One I can look into from my own penthouse in the neighboring building. The one I've been keeping empty, waiting for the right moment. Everything has been planned down to the last detail.

“You've done well, Elliot. The usual bonus will be in your account tomorrow.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with the Blackwoods,” he responds.

I end the call and pocket my phone, savoring the moment.

Lia Morgan is coming home. To Ravenwood. To me.

Fifteen years is a long fucking time, but some things are worth waiting for.

“What the fuck are you smirking at?” Knox asks, eyeing me as he directs two workers unloading crates from the truck. “You look like you just won the lottery or got the best blow job of your life.”

I shake my head, the smile not leaving my face. “Maybe both.”

“Bullshit. Spill it.”

“Just some good news,” I say, moving to check the manifest. “Nothing that concerns you, little brother.”