The soft hum of the surveillance system was the only sound in the room, monitors flickering endlessly, revealing everything I needed to know. A stranger would've found the sight disturbing—live feeds of hotel corridors, public spaces, even a shaky angle catching the back alley behind a certain apartment building.
Her apartment.
Ever since I'd confirmed her employment at the hotel, I'd taken action. Accessing the cameras hadn't been difficult. She was now part of the collection. Everything had moved faster than necessary, but in my world, chance didn't exist. I had already noticed her at the concert. Before she vanished into the crowd. I wouldn't let her disappear again.
From the moment she stepped into my world, that memory—our first encounter—had gained significance. Not emotional, no. Something deeper than emotion. Something that fed on silence.
"Sir." My assistant's voice cut through the quiet—low, respectful. "She's in the west wing. Her shift's almost over."
I didn't respond. Just watched. She wore her uniform, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her movements had already settled into routine. But I saw more. I saw the subtle glances over her shoulder, the tension in her steps, like she had to remind herself to stay calm.
"What time is it?" I asked finally, still not looking up.
"A little after midnight," he replied.
"Perfect."
I rose. Silent steps on polished floors. My assistant followed at a respectful distance. What was it about her? Was it the arrogance of sneaking into my world and believing I wouldn't notice? That desperate desire to be invisible and seen at the same time?
Maybe it was all of it. Or maybe it was because she filled the void—the one left by years of monotony. I had everything. Money, power, control. People came and went, faceless, forgettable. But she... she made herself visible.
"Why you?" I muttered to no one as I reached the front of the villa.
I needed more. I wanted to see the vulnerability she so cleverly masked. The thought that she believed she could manipulate me was laughable—yet I liked it. I paused, ran a hand through my hair, sharpening my expression.
"Sir, should I—"
"No," I cut him off with a flick of my hand. "I'll go myself."
He hesitated for a moment. Then nodded. "As you wish."
I slipped on my coat and stepped into the night. She was here—to see me, whether she knew it or not. It was time to give her something to hold onto. A sliver of recognition. I decided to break the invisible barrier between us. Not because I had to.
Because I could.
The car was waiting at the entrance. It would take me to the hotel without drawing attention. Everything was arranged. Always was. But this wasn't business. This wasn't routine. This was someone who had caught my attention. Finally.
As I entered the hotel, I checked her location. One glance at the app told me everything I needed to know. She would unknowingly cross my path.
The corridor was quiet.
I leaned against the wall—right at the corner she was about to turn. On the outside, I appeared calm. Disinterested. But inside, something stirred. Something I didn't understand. And I welcomed it.
For the first time in forever, I felt.
Days of watching her had turned into something more. Obsession. I found myself thinking of her. Wanting to know what she was doing. Who she talked to. It wasn't love. Not interest. It was darker. Something closer to possession. Control.
She was a shadow. A phantom.
And I—I had been patient. Unusually so.
But I needed more. Her fear. Her nervousness. That delicious, involuntary response to my presence. The control I could exert without her even realizing it.
And then—she appeared.
Turned the corner. Our eyes met. Just for a second. A flicker of surprise widened her pupils. Then came the bow—too quick, too forced. But I saw it. I saw everything.
I straightened. Let her believe I was just wandering the halls.
"How was your shift?" I asked casually, as if I hadn't been standing there waiting.
The subtle pulse in her neck. The way she didn't quite meet my eyes. The tension in her shoulders. Faster breathing.
She knew. Not what I was—but that I was something.
"I'm almost done," she said, barely meeting my gaze before looking away.
"It's quiet tonight," I remarked, eyes holding hers—forcing her into the moment, making it impossible to look away.
She was trying so hard to maintain composure. But I saw through it. I saw the cracks. The confusion. The fascination.
"Yes. The city sleeps."
There it was. That flicker of defense. The instinct to protect herself from a danger she couldn't name—but could feel.
"It's a clear night," I added. "Saw a shooting star earlier. Rare here in Seoul."
The words were chosen. Planted.
And it worked. Her face tensed, breath held. A trace of panic. Just enough.
She wondered if I'd seen her that night. If the coincidence wasn't a coincidence.
"Have a good night," I said, turning and walking away.
I wanted to stay. But I didn't. Let her think it was over. Let her analyze every word, every look. Let her obsess.
She'd never guess how deep I already was in her world. How far ahead I was. How much I controlled.
I felt her eyes on my back.
And when I turned the corner, I let myself smile—for the first time in a long while.
Cold. Sharp. Icy with intent.
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I'm back, darlings.And the real descent begins now.Let's see how far you'll follow me.