Shadows in the beautiful Paris nights.

...Chapter 3...

Days blurred together after that flight, melting away quicker than I realized. Work kept me busy boarding passengers, serving drinks, pretending to smile as though my life wasn’t quietly crumbling beneath the surface. Paris was supposed to be my escape, my place of healing. The city of light and love.

And for a while, I convinced myself it was.

I took long walks at night through the streets, my heels clicking softly against cobblestone, the golden glow of streetlamps painting everything in a warm haze. I sipped coffee at little corner cafés, wandered by the Seine, let the night breeze carry away my grief like whispers. I told myself I was free. That whatever strange encounter I’d had with that man on the plane was only a memory.

But peace has a way of slipping through your fingers the moment you think you’ve caught it.

Because lately… I felt it.

That weight. That presence. A shadow lingering just behind me. Every street I walked down, every café I sat at, every corner I turned there it was. Watching. Waiting. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as if unseen eyes traced every move. I told myself it was paranoia, grief playing tricks on me. But deep down, I knew better.

I wasn’t imagining it.

And then the flowers began.

Every morning, without fail, a delivery appeared at my hotel door. Not just flowers bouquets. Large, breathtaking, lavish arrangements of roses, lilies, orchids, all wrapped in silk ribbons, smelling like temptation itself. No card, no name, nothing to explain. Only a single note tucked neatly inside each one.

First day of snow you will be mine Remember that

The handwriting was elegant, deliberate. Each letter curved with confidence, claiming me without apology. My breath would catch every time I read it, part of me trembling with fury,

another part with… something else I refused to name.

I tried to ignore it. I threw the notes away, left the bouquets for the cleaning staff, pretended they meant nothing. But every morning, they returned. Bigger, bolder, darker. A reminder that someone was watching. Someone was waiting. Someone had already decided I wasn’t free.

I began to dread waking up.

I began to dread falling asleep.

One night, walking along the Seine, the feeling returned stronger than ever. The city was alive with laughter, couples strolling hand in hand, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance. But all I felt was that stare, cold and invisible, burrowing into my skin. My heart pounded, my steps quickened, and my reflection in the glass windows showed eyes wide with panic.

I turned sharply, scanning the street. Nothing. Just strangers, busy with their lives, none of them looking at me. Yet my body screamed the truth I was not alone.

I pulled my coat tighter, forcing myself to keep walking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me run.

Back in my hotel room, I locked the door and leaned against it, chest heaving. My phone buzzed. My hands shook as I picked it up, hoping for a distraction.

But there it was.

A message from an unknown number.

You look beautiful in red

My heart stopped. I was still wearing my red coat. My fingers went cold, the phone slipping slightly in my grip.

And then, before I could even breathe, another message lit up the screen.

First day of snow is close

I dropped the phone, stumbling backward, my mind spinning. I should have been terrified. I was terrified. But beneath that terror was a shiver of something else, something darker, something I didn’t dare confess even to myself.

Because as much as I wanted to scream, a secret part of me was already wondering…

What would it feel like when the snow finally fell?

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