Stella gathered her things, ready to leave, when Simon's voice cut through the silence.
"You are an interesting person, Mrs. Winchester."
Her fingers, which were just about to grab her iPad, halted mid-air. Her breath stilled for a fraction of a second before she looked up at him.
He knew.
She masked her reaction almost instantly. "And you are a clueless person, boss," she replied, her tone cool, but her eyes sharp with caution.
Simon smirked, tilting his head. "I beg to differ."
Stella exhaled through her nose, already exhausted by this game he seemed determined to play. "I see what you're trying to do, and I would never sleep with you," she said, standing up, her voice steady.
Simon merely leaned back, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Who said anything about sleeping? You're not interesting anymore." His voice dripped with mock disappointment, his eyes flicking over her dismissively as he tsked.
Stella clenched her jaw. "I'm leaving."
"One last question."
She had her hand on the door handle, pausing, waiting.
"Have we ever actually met before, Mrs. Winchester?"
Stella turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder.
"No, boss. The first time I saw you was that night. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, her tone firm, and walked out without another word.
Simon stared at the wall, his smirk gone.
She was lying.
After that day, Simon hadn't bothered her, and for that, Stella was grateful. She focused on her work, dedicating her time to refining prototypes, letting her life pass in the monotony of routine. She didn't have the energy for distractions, and if Simon had decided to leave her alone, all the better.
Simon, on the other hand, had pushed her from his mind. She had intrigued him, but that intrigue had died the moment he saw the ring on her finger. A married woman was not worth his time, no matter how interesting she seemed.
Tomorrow was Sunday, and he had plans. The black market.
He had been relying on the occasional feed from an employee—just enough to keep him functioning—but it wasn't enough. He craved more. Fresh, rich, untainted blood. The kind only the black market could provide.
And Simon always got what he wanted.
The next day, Stella found herself walking through the winding, shadowed alleys of the black market. It was always a strange thrill, knowing she was surrounded by creatures far more dangerous than she was—beings who could rip her apart without a second thought. And yet, she walked among them, untouched. Maybe it was because she wasn't completely human. Or maybe it was because she didn't fear them.
She was here for salts. Every week, she had to go through her transition, shifting back into her mermaid form, even if just for a short while.The salts helped. Kept her stable.
Meanwhile, in another part of the black market, Simon stood in front of a dimly lit stage. Five people were lined up before him, their hands bound in chains. They were cattle—blood offerings.
"I have two werewolves, two humans, and one mermaid," the seller announced. His voice was rough, bored.
Simon smirked beneath his mask.
"All five," his deep voice rumbled through the space, a command rather than a request.
The crowd shifted uneasily. No one ever took all of them. But Simon wasn't like the others.
Money exchanged hands. He was led into a private room, away from prying eyes. One by one, he fed, indulging himself in the rich, intoxicating taste of each creature. But when he reached the last one—the merman—something changed.
The moment his fangs pierced the merman's wrist, his senses were overwhelmed. The blood was potent, almost addictive, unlike anything he had tasted before. No wonder merfolk blood was rare. It was an elixir. A forbidden delicacy.
And yet… even as he drained the merman to the edge of death, he knew.
There was something better out there.
Something he hadn't found yet.
And he had no idea where.
Simon wandered through the dimly lit streets, the scent of damp stone and blood thick in the air. He had come here for one reason—to get what he needed and leave. But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
Inside a small, rundown shop, he placed an order for nightbloom, his voice low and curt. As he waited, his gaze drifted to the figure beside him.
A black hoodie pulled low, loose trousers, and combat boots—the kind that had stomped through his office not long ago.
He tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk.
Couldn't be.
Taking a slow step closer, he pretended to skim over the herbs, but his eyes flicked down—right to the diamond ring glinting on her finger.
What a coincidence, Stella.
He let out a dark chuckle, barely audible over the rustling of parchment and the low murmurs in the shop. He could leave her alone. Let her walk away, oblivious to how close she had come to danger.
But where was the fun in that?
She left first, disappearing into the blackened alleyways. Silent. Unaware. A little lamb among wolves.
Simon followed.
The second they were alone, he struck.
Stella barely had time to react before she was shoved back against the cold brick wall, her breath hitching as his gloved hand pressed firm against her waist, pinning her in place.
Her body tensed, ready to fight—until his voice slid through the darkness.
"What a surprise, Mrs. Winchester."
The way she stiffened made his smirk deepen.
"Boss?" she breathed, her voice sharper now.
His grip didn't loosen.
"What is a little lamb like you doing in a place like this?" he murmured, watching as defiance flared in her eyes.
She wasn't afraid.
Good.
"Move."
He didn't.
Instead, he leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost over her skin.
"Tell your husband to be careful."
Her brows knitted in confusion. "Wh-what?"
Simon exhaled a quiet laugh, enjoying the way she faltered. Slowly, he lifted his hand and brushed his gloved fingers over the tip of her nose, like wiping away something invisible—just to watch her flinch.
"I'm going to steal you from him."
Something flickered in her eyes then—something raw.
And for the first time that night, she looked truly unsettled.
Simon stepped back, his smirk carved into his face, as if he had already won.