The Silent Watcher

By Amelie Vesper

The Silent Watcher

Some secrets whisper. Others scream in silence. And Louise is about to discover them all.

Boston is a city built on old money, powerful families, and walls that guard the darkest truths. For Louise, it's home—and the place where she's fighting to keep her family's struggling bar alive. But when strange gifts appear, private words are repeated by strangers, and shadows follow her every move, she realizes someone is watching. Someone who knows too much. Someone who wants her.

The trail leads to the Crawfords—an influential dynasty woven into the city's history with threads of power, lies, and secrets too dangerous to surface. As Louise digs deeper, she's pulled into a web of obsession and deceit where every answer raises more questions… and every step brings her closer to the one person who has been waiting in the dark all along.

The Silent Watcher is a gripping psychological thriller filled with obsession, betrayal, and the terrifying truth that sometimes the most dangerous monsters are the ones you never see coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amelie Vesper
• Release date: Aug 30, 2025
• ISBN: 9798232990893

Amelie Vesper

Amelie Vesper crafts dark romance, suspense, and thrillers that explore obsession, danger, and forbidden desires. Her gripping stories pull readers into shadowy worlds where passion burns, secrets unravel, and nothing is ever as it seems—perfect for those who crave the darker side of love.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Admirer

THE SKY IS CLOUDY TONIGHT.

But it shines.

Leaning against the counter, she types something on her phone with pursed lips and a slightly furrowed brow. She has no idea how much this small gesture unsettles me. How can something so mundane be so mesmerizing?

My presence goes unnoticed by everyone here, as always. It's better this way. It's safer.

I watch silently from the darkest corner of the bar, where the lights don't fully reach and the noise of the customers serves as a shield against my rapid breathing.

I know her routine by heart. Her schedule, her gestures, even the exact moment she lets her hair down with a weary sigh— like she does when it's late and her feet start to hurt. Like now.

She is exhausted, but still beautiful.

Louise.

Every syllable of that name sounds like a whispered confession inside my chest.

I wonder if, one day, she'll realize. Not just that I'm here, but that I've always been. That I see her in a way no one else does— that I see every detail, every shadow hidden behind that suspicious, curious gaze. That I know her fears, her weaknesses, her scars... even the ones she tries to hide from herself.​

She is made of fire.

And I, gasoline.

Today, she's different. Distracted. There's a subtle melancholy in her eyes, as if something has broken inside. And even though this should make me feel relieved— knowing she's vulnerable, accessible— I can only feel anger.

Who hurt you this time, mon soleil?

The bar slowly begins to empty. Soon she will be alone.

My hands itch, desire throbs. The urge to get closer almost consumes me. To tell her she no longer has to carry anything alone. That there's someone who understands her better than anyone else. Someone who would do anything for her.

But no.

Not yet.

She's not ready.

I pull the hood over my head and watch her once more. She gathers the glasses, sighs, and says something to herself, as if making a mental note, preparing to close the bar. I know exactly how much time I have before she locks the door and heads to her office.

The present is already in place.

Chosen with care, left with precision.

She will find him.

And when her fingers touch those pages, when the words begin to speak for me, she will feel it.

She will know that someone sees her. That someone has chosen her.

And that, sooner or later, she will be mine.

Act I

The Awakening of Doubt

It is in the gap between reason and desire that the shadows find their home.

CHAPTER 1

Louise Calloway

— YOU'RE AWESOME, GIRL!

The extravagant celebration makes me smile, especially when Faith climbs onto a table and forces the other people to raise their drinks for me.

You're going to fall! Laughing, I try to pull my friend back to the ground, but she remains standing, holding a beer bottle in her hand.

My friend here just graduated. He points at me, smiling broadly. So I kindly ask that you raise your drinks so we can toast this amazing, intelligent girl.

I think Faith will be embarrassed to be on the table at the bar that is packed with people wanting to clear their minds because it is Friday, but then I am surprised when, little by little, glasses and bottles are raised and congratulations are said fervently, reverberating through the crowded space.

I never imagined that greater happiness could fill my heart than the realization of shaking the university dean's hand and knowing that, after five years of studying law, I'd graduated. But my friends expressing their admiration and affection for me, celebrating this achievement with me, fills my heart with joy, and it also makes it impossible to control my wide smile.

Faith gets down from the table with the help of one of her friends, Wes, who denies her boldness, but also smiles, and I know he understands that it's not easy to control this girl who does whatever she thinks, without considering the consequences of her choices.

My friend jumps into my arms and hugs me tightly, rocking me back and forth. When she pulls away, I see how proud she is, especially when she kisses my cheek and laughs.

I'll never, ever tire of telling you how fucking proud I am of you, girl! She cups my chin. Lou, you're going to be the best lawyer all of Boston has ever seen.

She's right. Wes walks over and hands me a bottle of beer, smiling and winking at me. Faith is never wrong.

I'm sure of it. I laugh and accept the beer, taking a sip of the cold liquid that makes me relax even more.

Wes and Faith sit in their chairs, sipping the new beers he brought from the bar. Still smiling, I look at their friends, whom I don't have much in common with, but who were kind enough to greet me and congratulate me on my graduation.

I pass them, catching their glances and smiles, and make my way through the crowd to the bar. I greet Gabe, the night bartender, who gives a quick nod to return his attention to the people he's serving.

I jump in place when I feel hands on my waist, almost lifting me off the ground. Turning around, I find Isaac with a smirk and an attentive gaze. I don't have time to say anything, as he grabs the back of my head and presses his mouth to mine, stealing my breath from the surprise of his action and the intensity of his kiss.

I have no choice but to give myself to him, like every time the boy kisses me until he makes me forget the ground I'm walking on.

Congratulations, princess, he whispers between kisses, pulling me against his body. And I'm sorry I'm late. Traffic is hell.

I thought I'd see you at my ceremony. I watch him toss his brown hair and shrug.

I was busy. He pouts and stands beside me, ordering a beer from Gabe. But I'm here now. And I'll be yours for the rest of the night.

I bite my lower lip and sip some beer from my bottle, my gaze fixed on Isaac. He leans against the counter, the muscles in his arms tensing as he sips the cold liquid and looks at my father's loyal customers, people who have stuck around through so much.

It was months ago that I met Isaac. Maybe because of Faith and her intrusiveness in wanting to introduce me to everyone she knew, but it was because of him that we started this friends with benefits thing, which is incredibly ironic, since we're not friends, we just have casual sex.

Of course, I never thought this would happen to me, but Isaac doesn't want a serious relationship, and I have other things to focus on, like what to do now that I'm graduated and how to come up with a plan to help my father. A serious relationship wouldn't be ideal for us, which is why I accepted his proposal to connect solely and exclusively through sex.

I bought you a gift. Isaac returns his brown irises to my face and sidles closer until he's right next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. And you'll look so hot in it.

What is it? I scan his face, recognizing the lust in his eyes and the way he gasps at the feel of my body pressed against his.

— You need to go to my room to find out.

I grab his beer, even though I still have mine, and take a sip without breaking eye contact. Isaac licks his lips, mesmerized, and soon kisses my cheek before moving down to my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

Another thing I never thought possible is that a man like Isaac, who doesn't yet know what he'll do with his gilded life, coming from a wealthy family with parents in the business world, is good at letting my entire body surrender to the desire he evokes in me. It's clear Isaac knows what he's doing, as it's almost impossible not to hear the girls whispering when we meet Faith and her friends in the north of the city. I see the way they look at him like a piece of meat, and I also see that it feeds his ego.

And I thought the same wouldn't happen to me until he kissed me and gave me an intense night of pleasure, making me understand why women fall at his feet.

— When the bar closes, you'll be mine — he says in my ear before kissing my neck and pulling away.

I clear my throat and finish my beer, fighting to push aside the craving and the tingling sensation that runs through my body.

I throw away the empty bottle and walk through the dark wooden door into the kitchen, which isn't very busy because it's not the focus of attention tonight, just the drinks. But I have to go through it to get to the office at the back of the bar, where my father must be.

I find him behind the desk, hunched over papers, his hair disheveled, as are his clothes. From his state, I know he's been drinking and fell asleep while doing the math, because that's what I see as I approach: numbers and numbers on those papers that repulse and despair me in equal measure.​

Shaking away the bitter taste in my mouth, I walk around the table and touch my father's back. He's slow to wake, only grumbling before opening his bleary eyes and lifting his head to look around, trying to adjust.

Oh, Lou. Guilt flashes in his dark irises as he looks at me. I ended up falling asleep.

I pat his back, smiling at him.

Are you okay? I push the papers away from him, throwing them into the drawer before that feeling of happiness leaves me.

Yes, yes. He sighs, leaning his back against the chair's upholstery. Tonight was supposed to be special, but I got distracted by the bills.

Don't worry, Dad. I squeeze his shoulders, seeing him smile a little. The night isn't over yet. We can have a drink, what do you say? How about a Negroni? I'll make it real quick.

I think I'm going to go home and get some sleep, he whispers, staggering to his feet. I don't want to ruin your night, my love. Go have fun with your friends, okay? I'll clean the bar and get everything ready tomorrow.

Without saying goodbye, he leaves the office, scratching the back of his neck and sighing with every step he takes. I follow him with my eyes, careful not to trip on the way, and when Calvin disappears from my sight, I brace both hands on the desk, biting my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood dances in my mouth.

I close my eyes and control my breathing, counting each step of inhaling, holding, and then exhaling. I do this for a few minutes until my heart feels calmer, something that, unfortunately, my mind doesn't.​

It was supposed to be a fun night. I thought that with my graduation and my father's presence at the ceremony, he would be more cheerful. I thought I would see him smile again, more spontaneously and genuinely, not the way he does every day just to say he's okay when he's wasting away day after day, consumed by growing sadness. And seeing the dirty whiskey glass and the half-empty bottle, I realize I was a fool to expect this.

Hey, how are you? I look up when I hear the knock on the door and find Faith standing there.

Okay. I nod and try to tidy up the desk, putting the rest of the papers and expense notebook back in the drawer. I return my attention to my friend, whose lips are now pursed. What's wrong?

— I don't like seeing you like this.

I shrug and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, away from my face.

— I'm fine. — I smile. — Just another rough night, nothing major.

Faith links her arm through mine as I walk over to her and receive a welcoming look.

You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever met, he says as we walk through the kitchen to the bar.

You always say that. I give a nasal laugh, avoiding his gaze.

Because it's the truth. She stops and holds my shoulders, but I keep my eyes averted. Everything you've done is so noble, Lou. I don't know even one percent of what's going on in your life, but know that I can see your effort.

I look up at her and sigh, hoping she sees how grateful I am, because I don't know if I'll be able to open my mouth at a time like this and say something to her.

Now, let's drink! he decrees after giving me a kiss on the cheek. Pretty girls like us need to get drunk to forget our problems.

And what problems do you have? I ask, laughing.

— Many, you have no idea.

We walk over to the table where Wes is sitting, along with his friends, and Isaac, who stares at me as soon as he sees me. Faith hands me a beer, and I sit in the empty seat next to her.

So, graduate, what do you plan to do now? asks Mia, a girl with black hair and a single red streak.

— Look for a job. — My answer, even though it's true, makes them laugh, perhaps thinking I'm joking.

I thought you were going to stay here, at your dad’s bar, comments Bess, a thin, blond boy, but extremely intelligent in the area of ​​computers.

Look, Bess, she graduated! Faith chimes in, crossing her arms on the table. Do you really think Lou would stay here after five long years at university?

Everyone laughs, including me, when the boy rolls his eyes and gives my friend the middle finger.

But it's her choice if she wants to stay, Mia comments. Just because she graduated doesn't mean she has to turn her back on this bar.

And I don't intend to, I inform. I'm going to look for a job, but I also don't want to abandon this place. I gesture toward the establishment. This bar is part of my childhood.

It could be my parents' lawyer. Isaac winks at me, earning a grunt from the people at the table. What's up, huh?

Stop being a jerk! Greg, a young man with a military haircut, throws a peanut at Isaac, who snorts. We already know your parents are filthy rich. You don't need to keep talking about it.

You guys are such idiots. I'm offering Lou an opportunity, he retorts.

You just forgot I'm going to be a criminal lawyer. I see him frown at me.

— And what does that mean?

It meant she could help her parents if they killed someone or were accused of a murder they weren't responsible for, Wes answered for me. Got it, rich kid?

Isaac kicks the boy under the table, earning a grimace.

For someone with a small mind, you're actually pretty smart. Isaac smirks as Wes rolls his eyes and takes a generous sip of his beer. You're going to be one of the hottest lawyers ever to walk this earth, he whispers to me as he pulls his chair closer to mine.

I fix my eyes on yours.

— Maybe I'll charge you every hour you're around me, like a real lawyer does.

He denies it and laughs. I watch him, Faith, and Wes talking about something that doesn't reach my ears, not when I feel like I'm being watched. However, even looking around, I can't find anyone watching me, not when there are so many people present, some sitting and others pacing.

The feeling remains even when Faith asks me if I'll be free next Friday, involuntarily forcing me to join the conversation.

Even paying attention to my friends and receiving glances from Isaac, I can still feel someone watching me, and when I can't find the person responsible, I decide to ignore it to focus on the present.

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IF YOU SMOOTH THAT glass one more time, I bet it will be thin, jokes Gabe, at the other end of the bar.

I smile at him before returning my attention to the glass of whiskey I'm holding, wiping the glass once more, which is more than clean after the long minutes I've been here.

It was quite a night, the bartender comments, putting the bottles back in their respective places on the mirrored glass shelf.

Yeah, it was. I look around the completely empty bar, with its skewed chairs, tables littered with used napkins, and a few beer bottles left in the corners by people who were clearly too drunk to remember to throw them away.

Why the discouragement? The man narrows his gaze, genuinely curious. You graduated and made a lot of money tonight.

I put the glass away, moving on to the next one, and sigh. To hide the struggle I'm going through, I smile at Gabe and shrug.

— If it were like this every night, I think I would be jumping for joy.

His gaze saddens and he returns his attention to the bottles left on the counter, because even Gabe knows that Friday is the busiest day around here, that is when people don't decide to visit another bar that is opening or when they think that here is monotonous and boring as soon as they set foot inside the establishment.​

Anyway, thanks for agreeing to take my place, I say, drawing his attention back to me.

No need to thank me, it was your graduation. He smiled, throwing his napkin over his shoulder as he approached me. But you owe me a Piña Colada.

I laugh and nod. He hugs me tightly, and I let him, because Gabe is an old friend of my father's and one of the few people who believes I can change fate, both Calvin's and my own.

The tall, burly man ruffles my hair as he pulls away and tosses the napkin into my hands, chuckling nasally.

— Good evening, recent graduate — he says, passing between the messy tables.

— I need to pay you, idiot!

Pay me tomorrow! He looks over his shoulder and winks before opening the bar door. Don't forget to lock it, you airhead.

Silence falls immediately, as does the realization that this is the fifth payment Gabe has made, only to then avoid the subject and refuse to accept the money when I approach him the next day, fulfilling my promise to pay it. But the man is stubborn and isn't shy about making this clear.

I finish putting away the glasses I was tasked with washing and drying, and then I set off to clean the tables and straighten the chairs. The pain in my feet from pacing for hours, helping Gabe and also paying attention to my friends, isn't enough to stop me from cleaning the bar until tomorrow. I could do it, since now that I'm graduated, I no longer have to wake up early to study, but I know I wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully knowing everything is a mess.​

I walk among the tables, straightening the chairs and upholstered benches. I collect the dirty papers and napkins, throwing them all in the trash bag, but I'm also relieved that people aren't so stupid when drunk as to destroy our things, like what happened during the opening week, when some bastards broke some paintings and benches and stole bottles of vodka.

The bar my father owns is a rustic space, with light wood walls, exposed beams on the ceiling, a pool table in the corner – some customers' favorite spot – and a small stage that hasn't welcomed aspiring singers to share their musical talents for a long time.

Since I was seven years old, this place has been my favorite, because I loved seeing the happiness in people's eyes and the way they expressed their joy through their body language. I loved hearing their laughter and the infectious conversations, which also made me smile, knowing that my father, besides taking care of the bar and the well-being of his customers, was careful and attentive to each person who entered the establishment.

That's how he became known.

That's why I wanted to participate and help him run the bar, just to be surrounded by that good energy that's present every night of the week.

I just didn't expect that it would take a tragedy for me to have to take on this role and, in order not to lose the bar, manage it without even knowing how to take care of myself.

I hear a sound coming from outside, a loud noise to ignore, and I drop the trash bag on the ground to walk to the bar door.

The moon shines brightly in the dark sky, participating in the streetlights, but they don't illuminate the place perfectly because of the enormous pine trees on the other side of the street.

The city, as always doing a shitty job, had the brilliant idea of ​​placing the poles between the trees, and of course the branches would block the light, creating shadows on the ground.

I look both ways, searching for the source of the noise. I examine the trash can but find nothing that might answer my question, and I return to the bar.

I close the door, lock it, and turn off the lights, leaving only the bar lights on. I pick up the trash, leaving it in the corner to throw away only when daylight breaks, and I find a package as I approach a table near the small game area.

Frowning, I look around, finding the space empty and silent, with only my presence. I look toward the kitchen, finding it empty as well, and wonder who could have left that package for me.

Curious, I touch the thin ribbon that appears to be made of straw and pull it, undoing the knot. I remove the aged paper, surprised to feel that whatever it is here is heavy. And my surprise grows when I pull away the paper and find hardcover books.

Eight books in total. All by authors I'm unfamiliar with, but who end up piquing my curiosity.

I gasp, feeling a smile form on my mouth as I read the titles, realizing that they are suspense stories, my favorite genre.

All the tiredness disappears, especially when I pick up the first book from the stack. I settle into the upholstered bench, flipping through the pages and inhaling the pleasant scent wafting from them.

I should turn off the lights, take a shower, and go to sleep, since I told Isaac I had to tend the bar, but the next thing I know, I'm already reading chapter one.

CHAPTER 2

Louise Calloway

IN BOSTON, ONE SURNAME rules more than any office: Crawford.

Those close to me know this is a topic I avoid discussing. I know what's happening in the city, every step the mayor takes, the events he organizes, and the improvements he makes. But even so, talking about the family that's been in power for almost a century is something I avoid.

It was in 1928 that the Crawford family name became known. It was because of William, a young man with revolutionary ideas and his determination to listen to those most in need, those who needed help, that people managed to put him in power. And since then, the Crawfords have remained at the top of this city, one of Boston's most prominent families, known throughout Massachusetts.

And it's hilarious how they manage to remain in power even after false lies involving their names, stories that people swear are true, when in fact, they are nothing more than rumors. Because, even though George Crawford is a mayor who keeps his promises and brings improvements to the city, there are people who dislike him— the same people who make up these stories, especially when election time approaches, as it is this year.

And the rumor this time is that George is involved in a corruption scheme within the city hall, as the reporter says.

— Amid speculation about Senator Michael Crawford's possible candidacy for state office, Mayor George Crawford faces new allegations, the woman says. An investigative report published today by the Boston Tribune alleged that the mayor was involved in a corruption scheme within the city administration, involving fraudulent practices involving public contracts and city funds. George Crawford's team has already denied all allegations, calling them desperate attempts to smear his image.

I let out a dry laugh. None of this is new. At least once a year, a rumor accusing George of something serious emerges, and nothing ever comes of it. The press feeds on the chaos for a few weeks, until a new story emerges and makes everyone forget.

The problem is, whether it's true or not, the Crawford family always comes out unscathed.

I return my attention to the TV mounted on the bar wall as I clean the glasses, listening to what the reporter still has to say on that subject.

— The Crawford family remains a pillar of local politics. Mayor George Crawford reinforced his commitment to the city today at an event alongside his brother, Senator Michael. Their presence reignited speculation about this year's state elections, with rumors that Michael, like George, may run for even higher office.

I roll my eyes, turning down the TV. It's hard enough avoiding the Crawfords in town, but I don't need to hear about them while I work.

What irritates me the most is how people seem to admire that family, as if they were untouchable.

George's face appears on the screen, next to Michael's, which ends up catching my attention. But then, an unusual image appears: Harry Crawford. Unlike the others, he doesn't seem to like the cameras, always remaining in the shadow of his brothers.

He chose a different path, building a tech empire, but in some ways, he's still part of the Crawford family. And of the three brothers, Harry is by far the only member of that family who isn't the target of criticism or fake news. Perhaps because he's not involved in politics or because he's chosen to be more reclusive, only appearing at important events and on TV because of his surname.

It's strange how there are never any rumors about him, not a whisper, not a scandal. As if no one wanted or dared to invent anything about Harry. And it's even stranger that he's part of a family that's been in power for years, and with each passing day, he gains more recognition not because of his brothers, but because of NexGen Innovations.

With the bar a bit busy, the only distractions are the TV chatter about that family and my responsibility to wash and dry the glasses. Gabe is at the other end of the counter, serving customers who arrive, eager to get some alcohol in their bodies. But, because it's Tuesday, the customers who arrived minutes ago are already sitting on the upholstered stools or chairs, laughing and drinking while chatting among themselves, which is why I'm more relaxed, doing my duty without rushing to finish quickly so I can make some drink I know how to make.

Funny family, don't you think? A short, bald man approaches the counter, looking at the TV.

His strong, alcoholic breath hits me as he speaks, and I flinch a little, wrinkling my nose. I don't need to speak to him to know he's drunk. It only takes a few seconds of staring at him to realize he's had too much to drink, especially as he staggers from side to side.​

I roll my eyes discreetly before continuing to clean the glasses, hoping he's not talking to me.

If I were a Crawford, I'd do that shit too, he says, laughing, slamming his open hand on the counter. Because I'd get away with it.

I exchange glances with Gabe, who watches the scene from afar, but pays close attention to every movement of the man who is clearly drunk.

How about a drink of water? I suggest, but he waves his hand in the air, vehemently denying it.

Did you hear all about this mayor thing? He stares at me, blinking several times. I watch his every move, especially when he pulls up the stool and sits, resting both arms on the counter. They say he's up to his neck in corruption. But you want to know the truth? He'll never be arrested. No Crawford will.

My fingers press the cloth against the glass I'm cleaning, but I keep my expression neutral, because even drunk, I can't say the man is mistaken.

It's not possible that all of this news is fake. If someone published this, if they had the courage to share such information on a blog, then some of it must be true. But to this day, it hasn't even been revealed whether George would be investigated.

And I think the mayor has someone cleaning up his mess, the man whispers as he leans in, as if telling me a secret. Don't you think so, pretty girl?

I think we're paying too much attention to this family, which isn't all that special. I put away the glass I'd just cleaned and grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar, placing it in front of the man. And if you want to keep talking about the mayor, you'd better drink this.​

Isn't there something stronger? he asks, pursing his lips.

— Either drink this or you leave. The choice is yours.

Reluctantly, the man opens the cap and drinks the water. I can tell he's thirsty as he takes long sips and then stares at the bottle as if it were a pot of gold.

What would you do if you were a Crawford? he asks me.

My hand stops mid-dry. What would I do if I were a Crawford?

I let out a short sigh, returning to work.

They're a family with money and power, which means they never have to worry about bills or debt. And if I had a third of what they have, that would be the end of my headache.

And you? What would you do? I ask back, not really expecting an answer. Even though I'm not interested in the subject, I don't want to seem rude, especially to a customer who, drunk as he is, probably won't even remember this conversation tomorrow.

The man smiles.

I'd buy a lot of bottles of whiskey like that. He points to the shelf behind me, his eyes shining with desire.

I roll my eyes, but end up grabbing the bottle and pouring him a shot.

— Just this dose and then you'll pay the bill, deal?

He nods, lifting the glass to his lips, and for a moment he looks satisfied, but then his expression changes. His eyes narrow slightly, and he returns to staring at the TV, where the image of Mayor and Senator Crawford still appears.

I finish serving him, and he pays the bill and staggers out of the bar. I watch him until he disappears through the door, and only then do I relax my shoulders and tilt my head from side to side, trying to release that level of tension.

Gabe serves a new customer who orders a Negroni, and he is quick to prepare and serve the drink, as I was the one who taught him how to make it.

It was at fifteen that I began learning how to prepare drinks, handle utensils and glasses, and pour the right shots for each type of drink. This earned me my father's admiration and a spot at the bar. And it was thanks to his teachings that I can now run Duskridge when Calvin is away, more concerned with drinking and sleeping than serving his customers and managing the place that has always been his favorite.

An uneasy feeling creeps up the back of my neck. Surreptitiously, I scan the bar, but find nothing suspicious. That chill isn't strange; it's quite familiar, which piques my curiosity as I want to know why I'm feeling this way, being watched by someone I don't know who it might be, given the sheer number of people here.

Gabe, who always notices everything, notices the subtle change in my expression.

Is everything okay? he asks, wiping the counter after handing the woman her drink. You look kind of... I don't know.

— I'm fine. I just thought...

— Found what? — He arches his eyebrow when I interrupt him.

Hesitantly, I lower my voice.

— That someone was watching me. But it must be all in my head.

Gabe nods and shrugs, looking around as if confirming that the idea is indeed in my head.

— Well, if it's a random drunk, I'll deal with it. If it's a pervert, I'll break his face.

— Thanks for the improvised security service. — I let out a soft laugh.

Always available. The man pauses and watches me out of the corner of his eye. But seriously, have you been feeling this way often?

I look away and deny it, but Gabe doesn't seem to believe my answer.

Maybe... sometimes, I reply, surprising him. But it’s not constant, and it doesn’t mean anything.

— Or maybe it means everything— he says, shrugging.

I roll my eyes, but the feeling is still there, keeping me alert.

Gabe returns to work, serving beer and taking payments from customers.

I'd love to have something to occupy my mind, to stop focusing on that shiver that insists on running through my body. I'd love for a new client to arrive and distract me, but given the time, I know it's more likely that people will leave than someone will arrive.

I put away a bottle of vodka the instant I hear raised voices. I only have time to glance over my shoulder, seeing Gabe come out from behind the counter to separate two men fighting over something I don't know what it is.

If you want to fight, do it outside! the bartender says, his voice loud, silencing the two men.

Relax. One of the men gives Gabe a serious look, knowing his temper well, and he won't let that go so easily.

— No, you relax! — he retorts. — Both of you out now!

The cloth I'm holding is clutched tightly in my hands as I watch the commotion gathering near the bar's entrance. Two voices overlap in a heated argument, prompting Gabe to raise his hands and try to intervene. The sound of the music, the drunken laughter, and the clinking of glasses make for the typical Friday night chaos, yet something still feels off.

My skin crawls, and it's not because of the broken air conditioning. It's different. The same strange sensation.

My eyes scan the bar, the familiar faces, the unfamiliar ones. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the feeling doesn't go away.

A customer calls me over and orders a drink, and I force myself to smile. I serve the order and return to my post, ignoring the growing unease in my stomach. The feeling that something is about to happen haunts me like a silent shadow, and even though I try to rationalize it, I can't shake it.

Gabe returns to the counter with a suspicious look.

— I swear this bar is attracting all sorts of people...

— What does it look like? — I ask, picking up a glass.

— The guy who looks like he's straight out of a film noir. Dark coat, fixed gaze, and absolutely zero interest in beer.

— Maybe they're just contemplating life.

— Contemplating too much, if you ask me.

The comment echoes in my mind, relentlessly.

Did you see that guy at the table in the corner? he asks, taking a deep breath.

— No — I answer, trying to remember.

— He'd been there for ages. He didn't even ask for anything, he just watched the action. Very bizarre.

— And he left?

— Yes. Strange, don't you think?

I shrug, trying to dismiss it, but a part of me remains alert. And my brain doesn't let up for the next few minutes, my eyes scanning the bar, as if it might find whoever was responsible for leaving me like that.

CHAPTER 3

Louise Calloway

I BLOW ON THE HOT LIQUID before taking a sip of my macchiato. The delicious flavor, something I haven't had in a while, makes me close my eyes and silently savor the taste of espresso and milk.

Here. Faith comes out of the cafe and hands me a worn paper package. Opening it, I smell the delicious smell of croissants dusted with cinnamon sugar. I know you were craving something.

Girl, I love you. I kiss her cheek, making my friend laugh and gently shove me with her shoulder. I owe you.

Don't worry. He waves his hand and runs his fingers through the loose, wavy brown