"Hello, Lucas."Lucas Salvatore barely spared her a glance. "Yeah. Hello."
That was it. Just two simple words, nothing special. But for Jasmine Carter, it was enough to make her chest tighten, enough to make her feel… something.
Lucas had been a mystery from the moment she met him. He had saved her once, pulling her out of a situation that could have ended much worse if he hadn't stepped in. That day had been her turning point—the day she realized that danger looked best when dressed in a crisp suit and an unreadable smirk.
He was different from everyone else. Despite the effortless charm he exuded, there was something distant about him, a coldness in his eyes even when he smiled. People whispered about him, speculated about who he really was. A wealthy heir, a criminal, a man with connections no one dared question. None of it was confirmed, but Jasmine found his secrecy intoxicating.
Her fascination started harmlessly enough. Watching him from afar, catching glimpses of him whenever she could. It wasn't love, not exactly. It was something in between—a craving, an obsession.
She hadn't meant to follow him that first time. She had only meant to walk in the same direction, to see where he was going. But before she knew it, she had trailed him through the streets of Rome, past the cafes and markets, until she found herself standing outside his home.
It was a beautiful house, grand but unassuming, the kind of place only a select few knew existed.
And now, she was one of those few.
The secret tasted sweet, even as she realized it was wrong.
She wasn't breaking into his house. She wasn't taking photos. She wasn't sending him strange messages.
She was just watching.
And there was nothing wrong with watching.
Lucas Salvatore made her feel things she couldn't explain—guilt, excitement, and something dangerously close to obsession.
Jasmine Carter knew she shouldn't be doing this. She knew it was wrong. And yet, she couldn't stop.
The time she spent watching him was the only time she felt truly alive.
Most days, she kept her distance, lingering outside the places he frequented, keeping to the shadows. But the highlight of her routine was always the same—following him home. She would watch from a distance, standing behind a tree or blending into the darkness, waiting for a glimpse of him.
If all went well, he would step outside around 8 PM to walk his dog. If someone else appeared instead, that meant he wasn't home. Those nights left her restless, disappointed, but she never dared push further than necessary.
She had set rules for herself. She would only watch him at a distance—never get too close, never do anything reckless. If he didn't come out by 8 PM, she would leave and head to her part-time job.
At least, that's what she told herself.
Lately, those rules had started to blur.
Three days ago, she discovered something new—Lucas jogged at 6 AM. If she kept watching for a week, she could confirm his routine. It was just a small shift, an innocent curiosity. But deep down, she knew she was crossing lines she had once promised not to.
And then, tonight happened.
Two of her tutoring sessions were canceled, giving her unexpected free time. She lingered outside his house longer than usual, her eyes tracing the outline of the grand estate, wondering which window belonged to him.
She hadn't even realized how late it had gotten.
When she finally checked the time, it was past 11 PM.
A wave of unease settled over her. Watching him at a distance was one thing—but standing outside his house this late? That was something else entirely.
With a deep breath, she stepped back and hailed a taxi. This was an upscale neighborhood, with no bus stops nearby. A short taxi ride would take her to the main road, where she could catch a bus home.
As the car pulled away, Jasmine forced herself to look forward.
Just a few more minutes. That's all she ever wanted. Just a little more time watching him.
That wasn't so bad, was it?
As Jasmine watched the taxi inch closer on her phone's screen, the gates to the estate suddenly swung open.
Her breath caught.
Lucas Salvatore stepped out.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, his golden-brown hair neatly slicked back, he looked nothing like the casually disheveled man she sometimes saw on campus. No—this was different. This was the Lucas that belonged to a world she could only glimpse from the outside. A world of power, secrecy, and untouchable allure.
The rumors about him—about his wealth, his influence—didn't seem far-fetched at all. He didn't look like an ordinary man. He looked like something out of a movie. His sharp features, the way he carried himself with effortless authority… He was the kind of person people would remember for years.
Jasmine barely had time to drink in the sight of him before the low purr of an approaching car pulled her from her thoughts.
A sleek black vehicle rolled up to the gates.
Her heart pounded as Lucas slid into the backseat without hesitation, the car pulling away into the night.
Where was he going this late, looking like that?
The thought gnawed at her, possibilities racing through her mind. A meeting? A date? A nightclub? That seemed the most logical. A man like him—tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly magnetic—he'd be the center of attention the moment he walked in.
The idea of him in a club, surrounded by flashing lights, bodies pressed too close, sent a strange surge of something through her. Curiosity. Jealousy.
A sudden impulse took hold of her.
Before she could second-guess herself, her taxi pulled up. She slid into the seat and leaned forward.
"Follow that car."
The driver shot Jasmine a suspicious look through the rearview mirror. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as if debating whether to question her further.
"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice gruff. "Following some guy this late at night?"
Jasmine forced a small, nervous laugh. "Yeah. Just… I need to know."
The driver didn't look convinced. His gaze flickered between her and the road ahead, his frown deepening as they moved further from the bright city lights.
The streets grew emptier. Darker. The neon glow of Rome was long behind them, replaced by desolate roads and looming industrial buildings. Jasmine's pulse quickened.
Where the hell was Lucas going?
Finally, the black car ahead slowed, turning sharply onto a side road before stopping in front of a massive, run-down warehouse. The towering structure was surrounded by a chain-link fence, its windows either broken or boarded up. The whole place looked abandoned—except for the faint glow of light seeping through a crack in the doors.
Jasmine swallowed hard.
This wasn't a nightclub.
The driver let out a low whistle, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Listen, kid," he muttered. "This doesn't look like the kind of place you wanna be sneaking around."
For the first time since making this reckless decision, doubt seeped in.
But then, she saw him.
Lucas stepped out of the car, his movements calm, deliberate. He adjusted his cuffs, exuding an effortless confidence that made her forget, for a second, where they were.
Then the warehouse doors creaked open.
A man—broad, scarred, and dressed in all black—gestured for him to enter.
And Lucas did. Without hesitation.
Jasmine's stomach twisted.
Jasmine forced a smile as she handed the driver his fare.
"Thanks," she said, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.
The driver gave her one last suspicious look before shaking his head and pulling away, leaving her alone in the eerie silence.
She turned back to the warehouse. The massive doors hadn't been shut all the way—probably because whoever was inside didn't expect anyone to come snooping around.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stepped closer.
This is crazy.
And yet, she moved.
Carefully, she pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, her breath hitching at the scent of something metallic—something that made her stomach churn.
Blood.
The dim glow of flickering overhead lights barely illuminated the space, casting long, shifting shadows across the concrete floor.
Jasmine ducked behind a stack of wooden crates, pressing herself against them as she struggled to calm her breathing. The air was thick, suffocating.
Then she saw him.
A man lay sprawled on the cold ground, his hands and feet bound with thick rope. His body trembled, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. But what made Jasmine's blood run cold—what nearly made her scream—was his hands.
His fingers.
They were missing.
Jagged stumps where they used to be. Blood pooling beneath him.
Her stomach lurched. A sharp wave of nausea gripped her, but she bit her lip, forcing herself to stay silent.
She had to get out of here.
But before she could even think about moving, a voice cut through the thick tension of the warehouse.
Calm. Low. Almost gentle.
"Do you feel like talking now?"
Jasmine froze.
She knew that voice.
Lucas.