Page 21 of Hidden

My hand flexed at my side, the familiar weight of the knife in my hand grounding me as the reality of that thought settled in.

She never did.

All those years of waiting, of holding myself back, of convincing myself that distance was enough—that this silent, pathetic routine was enough—and for what? For scraps. For silence. For the flick of a light switch that meant nothing. Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things.

It had been a childish routine. Something two foolish teenagers did when sneaking around. And had become the crumbs she left me to keep me invested.

Something dark began to coil inside me, feeding on every memory I had tried to bury and every excuse I had made for her over the years. I had been patient. I had been understanding. I had convinced myself that what I was doing was right, that I was giving her what she needed.

In reality, I had just been standing still while she moved on without me.

Dante had been onto something with Rachel. He took what he wanted and dealt with the consequences later. Whilst I pined for what I wanted, dealt with nothing, and let life pass me by.

My grip tightened around the knife, the cold metal biting into my palm.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I wasn’t staying in the shadows. I wasn’t waiting for scraps. I wasn’t pretending that this was enough. Tonight, she was going to look at me. She was going to see me.

Really see me.Allof me.

Not the man in the shadows. Her silent stalker. Her tormenter. She was going to see it all. Every piece of our history. Everything she had ruined. The life she had destroyed.

She was going to see, and she was going to fucking remember.

Whether she wanted to or not.

I stepped closer to the glass, closing the distance I had respected for far too long, until my reflection stared faintly back at me—darker, harder, a version of myself I barely recognised anymore.

Good.

Let her see what was left.

In the darkness, I saw her silhouette, brushing her long, dark hair at her vanity table, so blissfully unaware of the storm on her balcony. And for a moment, I hesitated. Because I knew exactly what this meant. Once I crossed this line, there would be no going back to the way things had been. Once I had a taste of what it was like to be this close to her again, I knew I would return here night after night.

No more distance. No more quiet understanding. No more pretending that we could exist like this without consequences.

And then I saw the door to her bedroom open, and there stood Nico, barking out a command. I watched as Gabriella crossed the room and kissed his cheek, murmuring something that was just out of my reach.

And all hesitation left me. My grip on the knife tightened.

Because he was living the life that was meant for me. She had allowed him to take my place, willingly and openly giving him everything we had been forced to hide.

And as the door to her bedroom closed, I found my hand raising, the knife tapping against the glass, the sound sharp and deliberate.

I grinned as she jumped, her head snapping around to look at me. I didn’t look away. I didn’t move back. I didn’t give her the option of pretending she hadn’t seen me.

Scraping the knife down the window, I pressed closer, coming out of the shadows, until my body was against the glass, my face all she could see in the darkness, until there was nothing between us but this thin sheet of protection.

Her breathing became shallow and rapid, her chest heaving as she locked eyes with me. I saw her body trembling, but she couldn’t look away.

I could practically read the thoughts racing through her mind, but nothing in me wanted to show her mercy. Let her wonder. Let her feel that rush of adrenaline masked as fear. Let her realise on her own that her world was about to change.

Grinning at her again, I held her gaze, unmoving, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face as her eyes darted briefly to the door before snapping back to me.

And that’s when it hit me.

She wasn’t just scared of me.