He's Back
Paul didn't waste his time in prison repenting. He spent it waiting. Watching. Planning.
The moment Luke visited him after his arrest, Paul knew. He saw it in Luke's guilty eyes before he even spoke the words.
"I helped Nick."
Paul's breath had caught in his throat. His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Luke betrayed me.
But he couldn't lose his temper—not yet. Instead, he forced a smile, his voice calm and understanding. "It's alright," he said, placing a hand on Luke's shoulder. "You were only looking out for me. I understand now."
Luke let out a breath of relief. Paul watched him closely, hiding the storm brewing inside him.
That night, alone in his cell, the facade shattered. His fists met the cold concrete wall, over and over again, until his knuckles bled. He had been sentenced to five years. No way out. Nick had made sure of that.
But Paul wasn't done.
Luke became his only source of information. Each visit, Paul smiled, acted like the man who had learned his lesson. And each time, he asked about her.
"How is Jane?"
"Is she happy?"
"I'm glad she's moved on."
Lies. Every word tasted like poison.
The day Luke told him Jane had given birth to a son, Paul could barely breathe. He had to fight to keep his voice even as he said, "I'm happy for her."
But he wasn't.
That child should have been his.
Five years passed. Slowly. Painfully.
But when Paul walked out of that prison, he wasn't the same man who went in. He had become a beast. His body, hardened by years of training, carried an unshakable strength. His eyes, darker, colder, held no trace of mercy.
Luke was waiting for him, ready to drive him home.
"Damn, Paul," Luke whistled as he took in his transformed friend. "You look... different."
Paul smirked. He said nothing.
They drove in silence, and when Luke dropped him off at his penthouse, Paul stepped inside and let the memories crash over him.
Jane.
The way she had looked at him with lifeless eyes. Her last smile before she collapsed.
He would never forget it.
For a month, Paul kept a low profile. He waited, studied, and prepared.
When the time was right, he shaved his beard, dressed sharply, and slipped back into the world as if he had never left. A crisp white shirt covered the tattoos on his forearms, but nothing could mask the darkness in his heart.
He slid into his car and drove, his mind fixed on one thing.
Jane.
He knew her schedule. 1 PM. Every day. She picks up her son from school.
Parking across the street, he leaned back against his car, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. He waited.
And then, there she was.
Paul's breath hitched.
She was stunning. Time had done nothing to her—if anything, she had grown even more beautiful. There was a glow to her, a kind of happiness that made his chest tighten with something bitter and raw.
Then, his gaze fell on the little boy who came running toward her.
Paul's stomach twisted.
The child had Jane's features—her eyes, her delicate nose, her smile.
It should have been mine.
Jane laughed as she lifted the boy into her arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The sound of her happiness, so effortless, so real, burned through Paul like fire.
His fingers clenched.
She had moved on.
She had forgotten him.
As she set the boy in the passenger seat and moved to the driver's side, Paul saw it happen.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
Even behind his sunglasses, he knew the moment she recognized him. Her face went pale. Her body tensed.
A bus roared past, cutting off her line of sight.
And by the time it passed—
He was gone.
However, he truly wasn't gone.
Paul smirked as he walked away.
He had seen the panic in her eyes.
She knew.
He was back.
And he wasn't going anywhere.
As Jane drove away, her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breath uneven. It couldn't be. It couldn't be him.
She stole a glance at the rearview mirror, but the street was empty now. Just the usual cars, parents picking up their kids, life moving on as if nothing had happened. But she knew what she saw.
Paul.
The name alone sent a shiver down her spine. Her stomach twisted, nausea rising as memories she had buried deep threatened to resurface. The cold touch of his hand. The way he looked at her was like she belonged to him. The night she almost lost everything.
"Mommy?" a small voice broke through her thoughts.
Jane forced herself to breathe, turning to her son with a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, sweetheart?"
The little boy tilted his head, watching her closely. "Why do you look scared?"
Jane swallowed hard, forcing down the panic clawing at her throat. "I'm not scared, baby," she whispered, brushing his dark curls back. "Everything is fine."
But it wasn't.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone. Nick. She needed to tell Nick.
Just as she unlocked the screen, a message popped up.
Unknown Number: Did you miss me, Jane?
Her breath hitched. Her blood ran ice-cold.
The light ahead turned red, and her car rolled to a stop. The world around her blurred, sounds fading into a dull hum. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Then, as if on cue, a black car pulled up beside hers. The tinted window rolled down just enough for her to see.
A smirk.
A pair of familiar dark eyes behind sleek sunglasses.
Paul.
Jane's breath caught in her throat, her grip on the phone tightening. The car beside her didn't move. He just sat there, watching. Waiting.
The light turned green.
Jane slammed her foot on the gas, her heart racing faster than ever.
But deep down, she knew.
Paul was back.
And this time, he wasn't going to let her go.
The End.