Chapter Text
Clary sat alone in her dimly lit bedroom, wrapped in a robe, the faint hum of the city outside breaking the silence. Her bed was unmade, the sheets still warm from the presence of the man who left only moments ago. She stared at the empty glass of wine on her nightstand, replaying the night in her mind.
He had been magnetic, though something about him had unsettled her. They’d met at a cocktail bar—his gaze was intense, as though he already knew her.
It had started like any other night out, and Clary wasn’t looking for anything more than a drink to unwind after a long week. She’d sat at the bar, ordered her wine, and settled in to enjoy her solitude when his voice had interrupted her thoughts.
"Drinking alone?" he’d said, leaning slightly toward her, whiskey in hand. His smile was confident, bordering on cocky, but not enough to be off-putting.
She’d glanced at him, assessing him quickly. He was handsome in an effortless way, the kind of guy who looked good without trying too hard. She shrugged. "What’s it to you?"
"It’s a shame," he’d replied, his voice low, smooth. "Someone like you shouldn’t have to drink alone."
It wasn’t the most original line, but something about his delivery had made her smirk. "And you’re here to fix that?"
"If you’ll let me," he’d said, raising his glass toward hers.
It had been easy after that—banter that didn’t require much effort, drinks that flowed as easily as the conversation. He’d been quick with his jokes, charming enough to keep her attention without being overbearing.
"Do you do this a lot?" she’d asked at one point, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"Only when I get lucky," he’d replied, flashing her a grin that somehow managed to be both cheesy and disarming.
She’d laughed, rolling her eyes but not pushing him away when he leaned a little closer.
It hadn’t taken long for them to decide to leave. There hadn’t been any grand gestures or overly sentimental moments—just the mutual understanding that neither of them wanted the night to end at the bar.
When they arrived at her apartment, he’d slipped off his shoes at the door without her asking, his movements casual, comfortable, as if this were something he did often.
They hadn’t wasted time with drinks or small talk. He’d kissed her the moment they were inside, his hands already finding her waist, pulling her close.
In her bed, things had moved quickly. His confidence had been undeniable, the way he’d guided her without hesitation. He’d adjusted her hips, tilted her chin, shifted her legs—always with a soft murmur or a quick smile that made it seem like second nature to him.
"Like this," he’d said at one point, his hands firm but not forceful as he moved her into a different position.
She’d laughed, breathless, and teased, "You’re really into specifics, huh?"
"Just making sure it’s good for both of us," he’d replied, his tone easy, his focus never wavering.
It had felt fun at the time, the way he’d taken the lead. She’d let herself go with it, enjoying the physicality, the lack of pretense.
"Stay like that," he’d murmured once, his voice low and deliberate as he adjusted her hair. She’d smirked, leaning into the playfulness of it, thinking he was just trying to make things more exciting.
It had felt like nothing more than a particularly good hookup—a guy who knew what he was doing, someone who made her laugh while making her feel good.
When it was over, he hadn’t stayed long. He’d dressed quickly, pulling on his clothes with the same efficient confidence he’d shown all night. She’d stayed in bed, the sheets tangled around her, watching him with a faint smirk.
"No breakfast?" she’d teased, her voice light.
He’d glanced back at her, grinning. "Next time," he’d said, his tone casual as he slid his jacket over his shoulders.
She’d laughed, not expecting there to be a next time but appreciating the sentiment.
"See you around," he’d added before slipping out the door, leaving her alone in the quiet of her apartment.
It hadn’t meant anything, not really. It had been fun, that was all—a good night with a guy who knew how to make things exciting.
Clary shook herself from the memory, reaching for her journal in the nightstand drawer. As she pulled it out, her hand brushed something cool and metallic. Frowning, she picked it up—a delicate gold bracelet.
Her heart stopped. It was unmistakably hers, a piece of jewelry she lost as a teenager. She hadn’t seen it in over 15 years. Her throat tightened as she turned it over in her hand, her fingers brushing the tiny engraved charm. This doesn’t make sense. How could it be here?
She sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. Could the man have left it? No, he couldn’t have known about this bracelet. Unless… Unless someone gave it to him.
The faint sound of a floorboard creaking jolted her from her thoughts. She looked around the room, her eyes scanning the shadows. Everything seemed normal, but the tension in her chest tightened. She knew this feeling—the feeling of being watched.
Her eyes drifted to the vent near the ceiling, a familiar feature of the room she had lived in for years. And that’s when she saw it: a faint, blinking red light, so subtle it was barely noticeable. Her breath caught.
She stood slowly, approaching the vent, her pulse pounding in her ears. How had she never noticed this before? But of course, she never would’ve. It was so small, so perfectly hidden. It wasn’t meant to be found—at least, not until now.
Her phone buzzed from the nightstand. The sound made her jump, the bracelet falling from her hands and clattering to the floor. She stared at her phone for a moment, dread pooling in her stomach, before she picked it up.
The subject line read: “Do You Remember This?”
She hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen. When she opened the email, her blood ran cold. The body of the email was blank, but the attachment was a photo of her.
It was from earlier that week, as she sat on her bed, slipping off her heels. The angle was high, as though taken from the ceiling vent.
Her breathing became shallow as she stared at the photo. This wasn't the first time weird things happened to her. Suddenly, fragmented memories flashed through her mind—small things she’d dismissed, written off as paranoia:
A note left on her car windshield two months ago that read, “You’re more beautiful in person.”
A strange email she received weeks ago with no text, just the subject line: “I see you.”
The feeling of her keys being in the wrong place when she came home one day, even though she’d convinced herself she’d been careless.
Each moment had felt small, insignificant—but now they were fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, forming a picture she didn’t want to see.
Her phone buzzed again. Another email. The subject line read: “Don’t Be Afraid.”
This time, there was a video. She didn’t want to watch it, but her hands moved on their own. She tapped play.
The grainy footage showed her and the man from earlier that night. The camera angle was low, like it was hidden under a piece of furniture. It captured them undressing, kissing, laughing softly. Her stomach twisted as she realized her most intimate moments had been violated.
The video ended with a close-up of her pleasure-filled face. A voice whispered, deep and smooth: “I’ve missed you.”
The phone slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor. Her breathing was erratic now, panic clawing at her chest. She grabbed the nearest object—a heavy book—and slammed it against the vent, dislodging the tiny camera. She stared at it for a moment, trembling, before throwing it across the room.
Her mind raced. She wanted to call the police, but something told her this was bigger than that. This wasn’t just about a break-in or a stranger watching her. This was personal.
She picked up the bracelet again, holding it tightly. Her fingers brushed over the engraving on the charm—a small, familiar letter. V.
Her stomach dropped.
Victor.