The light from the monitors bathed Ryker Quinn’s face in a cold, bluish glow as he leaned forward in his chair. On the screen before him, Serena Hale sat at the dining table of the penthouse, her posture stiff and her hands cradling a mug of tea. The room was dimly lit, its grandeur muted by the late hour, and her face was drawn with exhaustion.

Ryker studied her intently, his eyes tracing every line of tension in her body, every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable, a reflection of the grief she carried like an invisible weight.

She was beautiful in her pain, and Ryker felt a sharp, possessive ache in his chest.

“You’re almost where you need to be,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unsettling mix of tenderness and satisfaction.

The plan had been meticulous, a masterpiece of calculation and precision. Removing Serena’s grandmother hadn’t been an impulsive act, nor had it been driven by malice. It was necessity, pure and simple.

The old woman had been an anchor, tethering Serena to a life of independence, of control. She had been Serena’s source of strength, her reason to fight through the challenges of her demanding career and the chaos of her life. As long as her grandmother lived, Serena would never truly need anyone else.

And Ryker needed her to need him.

He had begun the process months earlier, gathering every piece of information he could about the frail, elderly woman. Her health records were easy enough to access with the right leverage, and it hadn’t taken long to discover the precarious state of her heart.

It was almost too perfect.

Maeve had hesitated when he first brought her into the plan. She had always been his confidante, his unwavering ally, but this had tested even her loyalty.

“She’s an old woman,” Maeve had said, her voice quiet but firm. “You can’t justify this, Ryker. Not even to yourself.”

Ryker had stared at her, his expression unreadable.

“This isn’t about justification,” he had replied. “It’s about Serena. Her grandmother is holding her back, keeping her from realizing what she truly needs.”

“And what she truly needs is you?” Maeve had challenged, her tone laced with quiet disbelief.

“Yes,” he had said simply.

Maeve hadn’t argued further. She never did when he set his mind to something.

The execution of the plan had been seamless. A few quiet conversations, a few discreet transactions, and the right person had been in place to ensure the desired outcome. The tea laced with a subtle dose of a compound that would mimic a natural heart attack had been the final touch.

Ryker had watched the footage of her grandmother’s last moments with detached interest. The old woman had sipped her tea, her expression serene, unaware of the end approaching. There had been no drama, no struggle—just a quiet fading.

It was exactly as he had intended.

Now, as he watched Serena move through the penthouse, her grief raw and unguarded, Ryker felt the stirrings of satisfaction. She was vulnerable, untethered, and alone—exactly where he wanted her.

The cameras he had installed throughout the penthouse provided him with a voyeuristic window into her life, allowing him to observe her every moment. She didn’t know they were there, of course. He had ensured they were expertly hidden, their presence undetectable.

At first, he had justified the surveillance as a precaution. He needed to know she was safe, that she wasn’t being targeted by anyone who might seek to harm her. But the truth was far less noble.

Watching her had become an obsession.

He told himself it was necessary, that it allowed him to understand her better, to anticipate her needs and desires. But deep down, he knew the cameras fed his darkest impulses.

There was a pleasure in seeing her like this, stripped of the armor she wore in the outside world. In the privacy of the penthouse, she was raw and real, her emotions laid bare.

Ryker’s gaze flicked to another monitor, this one showing a different angle of the penthouse. Serena had moved to the living room, her movements slow and deliberate. She sank onto the couch, her head resting in her hands.

He could almost feel her pain, the weight of her loss pressing down on her.

“You’re stronger than this,” he said softly, as though she could hear him through the screen. “But you don’t have to be strong alone.”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. The roses had been a misstep, he admitted to himself. They had unsettled her, pushed her too far too quickly. He needed to be more careful, to pace himself.

Serena was like a wild animal—beautiful, fierce, and wary of traps. If he wasn’t careful, he would spook her, and she would retreat further into herself.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Maeve entered the room, her presence as steady and grounding as ever. She glanced at the monitors, her expression unreadable.

“You’re still watching her,” she said, her tone more observation than accusation.

Ryker didn’t respond immediately. He flipped the silver coin in his hand, his eyes still on the screens.

“She’s grieving,” he said finally. “She needs time to process everything.”

“And then what?” Maeve asked. “You think she’ll suddenly turn to you for comfort? That she’ll forget the roses, the unease, and accept you with open arms?”

Ryker’s jaw tightened. “She will,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Maeve sighed, her gaze softening. “You can’t force her to love you, Ryker. No matter how much you manipulate the pieces, the choice has to be hers.”

“She doesn’t know what she needs,” he said. “Not yet. But she will.”

Maeve shook her head but didn’t argue further.

After Maeve left, Ryker turned his attention back to the monitors. Serena was still on the couch, her eyes staring blankly at the floor.

He felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name—guilt, perhaps, or regret. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by the certainty that he was doing what was necessary.

Serena was his, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

And he would do whatever it took to make her see the truth.