The Woman in the Shadows

Prologue

I’ve never been a man’s first choice.

Not once. Not ever.

It started early. Boys at school preferred my friends—the mysterious, easy girls with bubbly personalities, designer clothing, and candy-sweet perfume. Teachers complimented my intelligence, my neat handwriting, my “kind spirit,” but never my looks.

By the time I hit high school, I understood the rules: good girls don’t get chosen. They wait in the shadows. They smile while others are celebrated. They clean up after everyone else’s mistakes—and they’re grateful to do it.

I remember, in my early adult life, being at a party with my two cousins. Men came up to dance with them, and I watched as they were twirled around the floor. No one asked me to dance. No one even looked my way. It was like I didn’t exist. So I learned to hide, to smile when my crush held someone else’s hand, to sit quietly while men flocked to my friends, eyes bright and eager. I even learned to laugh with them, to pretend I didn’t notice the way they looked past me.

But at night, when the house was quiet and my family had retreated to their rooms, the resentment crept in. The anger. The fantasies. The pain. For years, I went unseen, and for years I thought that was a bad thing.

It was just a thought. But then it wasn’t.

Chapter 1

The bar was dim, neon signs flickering in pale blue and red, casting uneven shadows across the room. It throbbed with bass, the kind of music that rattled glasses on the counter and made the walls feel alive. Neon lights flashed over sweat-slicked bodies, over laughter that was just a little too loud, and over the familiar way eyes followed her. Always her.

Anna slid into the booth next to me, tossing her hair like she’d stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. Even with cigarette smoke hanging in the air, she sparkled—cheeks flushed, lips painted the kind of red that promised trouble. She picked up her phone from the table, pretending to scroll, but her eyes were alive, scanning, measuring.

I sat in the corner, half-shadowed, my drink sweating against the table. No one noticed me, not really. That was fine. It was always fine. It was the way I learned to like it.

“Middle-class. One o’clock,” Anna murmured, almost to herself, just loud enough for me to hear.

I nodded, noting the subtle cues: polished shoes, the way his wristwatch caught the light, the faint scar along his right knuckle—nothing major, but it marked him as human. Predictable.

“Worth it?” she asked.

Calm, controlled, I said, “He’ll bite.”

I watched the man, mid-thirties, clean-cut, laughing too loudly at a friend’s joke, tossing back his drink in a way that drew attention—unaware he was already being observed. His mid-range suit suggested ambition without extravagance.

We watched as he leaned closer to the bar, flirting with the bartender, and then—on cue—his eyes flicked toward Anna.

I smiled. Bait taken.

She laughed lightly at nothing, tilting her head, brushing hair from her face. His eyes followed every movement, curiosity sharpening into interest.

I sipped my wine, letting the bitterness coat my throat, savoring the anticipation.

He whispered something to the bartender, and she handed him two drinks. Then he walked over.

He wasn’t remarkable at first glance—late thirties, maybe early forties. A pressed shirt, sleeves rolled at the elbow, a gold band that caught the light just so. A man who wanted to look relaxed but couldn’t hide the middle-class polish. He carried the drinks, condensation dripping down onto his hands as he approached.

“Ladies,” he said smoothly, setting them down in front of us. “Thought you might enjoy something cold.”

Anna’s smile bloomed, effortless. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” Her voice dripped with charm, a natural sweetness that had nothing to do with effort. She barely glanced at the glass before flicking her gaze back to him, her bright eyes locking on like a promise. I lifted my glass, nodding politely, though I had no intention of drinking. Neither did Anna.

It was part of the dance: accept, flatter, never swallow.

His eyes stayed fixed on Anna. He looked at her the way a starving man looks at a feast—hungry, desperate, already tasting. I felt it, sharp as a blade in my gut. The familiar sting. To him, I was invisible—an obstacle, a placeholder. Always an afterthought.

They never looked at me like that.

If their gaze happened to brush over me, it was with that hesitant flicker, that moment of calculation: Not as pretty. Not as inviting. Not worth the trouble—unless she says no.

I forced my lips into a smile, the same way I always did, burying the burn beneath my ribs.

“So,” he continued, leaning closer, “you come here often?”

Anna laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes.”

I watched her play the game, casual, effortless. She leaned in just enough to pull him deeper. He was hooked already, though he didn’t know it.

Then he asked the inevitable. “Would you like to dance?”

Anna tilted her head, pretending to hesitate. “Well…” She glanced at me, and in that silent exchange, I knew the script. Her smile returned, slow and teasing. “Sure. Why not?”

She slid out of the booth with grace, her hand brushing his as he helped her up. He practically glowed under her attention, puffing with pride. He never saw the way her other hand moved.

Quick. Smooth. Perfectly timed.

His wallet was gone before his fingers even laced with hers. She passed it down along her thigh, flicking her wrist slightly as she handed it off under the table.

It was in my hands now.

Cool leather, still warm from his pocket.

My chest tightened with a dark, electric thrill. He didn’t even know. He was too busy staring at Anna as though she were the only woman in the room.

And maybe she was, to him.

But to me? He was already dead.

Chapter 2

I opened the wallet beneath the table, eyes scanning with quiet efficiency.

Robert Hayes.

Address: a clean suburban street in Westbrook.

Driver’s license photo: darker hair, stiff smile.

Bank cards, credit cards, receipts from a steakhouse two towns over. A dry-cleaning stub. A folded slip from a hotel—The Rowan Inn, Room 214.

Interesting.

He thought he’d stumbled into Anna’s orbit by accident, that fate had drawn him into her glow. But I’d seen him weeks ago. The way he lingered near the corner of the room after work, how he always checked his phone before entering—as if texting someone who wasn’t supposed to know. I noticed the ring, the tan line, the habit of slipping it into his pocket before sliding into the crowd.

Not just careless. Sloppy. Sloppy men were my favorite.

On the dance floor, Anna was radiant. She let herself go in a way I never could, pressing against him, sultry enough to turn heads. Other men watched, hungry, but Robert had blinders on. His hands clung to her hips like he’d been starving for decades.

Jealousy stirred, sharp and unwelcome, like it always did. It wasn’t about wanting him—not Robert, not any of them. It was the way Anna commanded attention without effort. The way men saw her, always her, as if I were nothing but a shadow.

Robert spun Anna clumsily, laughing too loud, the picture of middle-aged desperation. Then she leaned in, lips at his ear, and I knew she was giving him the line.

“I need some air,” she murmured. “Come outside with me.”

His grin widened. Hook, line, sinker.

Anna led him toward the back exit, her hand trailing along his arm. Just before they reached the door, she glanced back at me, a spark of mischief in her eyes. The signal.

I rose from the booth, slow and deliberate, tucking the wallet into my jacket. He didn’t see me slip behind them. His eyes were only for Anna.

Chapter 3

The night air wrapped around us, damp and heavy, carrying the scent of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. The thrum of bass from inside the bar bled through the walls, a muffled heartbeat against the quiet alley where Anna led him.

Robert’s hand lingered at the small of her back, his eyes glued to her curves like he’d never seen a woman before. Pathetic.

Anna played her part flawlessly—leaning into him, laughing at nothing, letting her voice drip with suggestion. She was a born lure, a Venus flytrap in sequins.

He chuckled, adjusting his shirt, trying to look casual.

Anna leaned against the brick wall, tilting her head, inviting. She stepped closer, her body brushing his. He melted into her touch, his hunger embarrassingly obvious. Then she let him kiss her. Just once. His hand slid toward her waist, greedy.

When they broke apart, I smiled faintly.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” she suggested. “It’s quieter down the street.”

His grin widened. “Lead the way.”

She did. Past the dumpsters, down toward the darker end of the alley where the lights grew scarce and shadows pooled like ink. I trailed behind them, my footsteps light, silent.

Robert thought he was about to score.

I thought about the hotel stub in his wallet. The wife who didn’t know where he was. The kids who probably wondered why Dad didn’t come home on time anymore.

Pathetic.

The alley narrowed, a dying streetlight flickering in erratic flashes of pale orange. Robert followed Anna eagerly, shoes scraping against cracked pavement, each step heavy with anticipation.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked, voice a mix of curiosity and lust.

Anna didn’t answer. Instead, she let her heels click slowly, deliberately, pulling him deeper into the dark. The air grew colder, sharper, the stench of rot from the dumpsters mixing with the tang of metal. Perfect.

“You’re quiet,” he said again, chuckling nervously. “Mysterious. I like that.”

Behind him, I lingered, half-hidden in shadow. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.

She stopped where the alley dead-ended into brick. Robert closed the distance eagerly, a predator who didn’t know he was prey.

Anna leaned back, one hand splayed behind her, the other sliding up his arm as though she couldn’t resist. His grin widened, hungry, foolish.

Then she pulled him in.

Their mouths crashed together, the kiss sloppy, urgent, all teeth and heat. His hands fumbled at her waist, traveling up her ribs, gripping like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go. She arched into him, laughter muffled against his mouth before turning into something softer, something that made him groan.

Robert pressed closer, his body flush with hers, fingers tracing possessive lines over her hip, her thigh. The air grew hotter, the damp night pressing in as their breaths mingled, ragged and fast.

I stayed in the shadows, arms folded. To him, this was victory. To her, performance. To me, opportunity.

Anna moaned softly into his mouth, letting his hand travel higher, his grip bolder, his kiss deepening into desperation. She made him feel desired. Wanted. Irreplaceable.

Anna tilted her head, exposing her neck as if inviting him closer. And she looked straight at me.

That was my cue.

Her knee drove upward into his stomach. He choked, doubling over. Before he could recover, I ran up, snapped my hand to the back of his neck. Anna ducked aside, and I slammed his skull against the wall. The sickening thud echoed.

He gasped, staggering, confusion and fear flooding his face. “W-what the hell—”

“Shh.” I trapped him against the wall, my fingers sliding under his chin, forcing his gaze to mine. “Don’t talk. Just feel.”

His eyes darted wildly, searching for Anna, but she leaned against the wall, calm and detached. She knew her part.

“You see,” I murmured, “men like you make me sick.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t lie.” My voice snapped, sharp enough to make him flinch.

“You make me feel invisible,” I whispered, raw, honest. “You make me feel like nothing. And for that… you’ll pay.”

He tried to push off the wall, stumbling forward. Anna stuck out her foot; he tripped and fell, dragging himself across the ground.

“Where are you going, Robert?” My voice was almost playful.

He didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure he could.

I grabbed him from behind, yanked him up, my hand locking around his jaw and head.

“Please,” he rasped. “I’ve got kids—”

“I know.” I smiled, almost tender. “I saw the photos in your wallet. They’ll be better off without you.”

And with that, I twisted. His neck snapped.

When I let go, he crumpled, gasping once, twice, before silence swallowed him whole.

For a moment, the only sound was my breathing—steady, calm. My pulse slowed. Control returned.

Anna approached, heels clicking softly. She looked down at the body, unreadable. “Messy tonight,” she murmured.

“He deserved messy,” I said.

She crouched, rifling his jacket, retrieving a card, keys, a folded wad of cash. She passed the keys to me without looking.

I pocketed them, my hands steady.

Behind us, the bar’s music pulsed on, oblivious. Another night. Another man who thought I was an afterthought.

Chapter 4

The body slumped in the shadows like discarded trash.

Anna exhaled through her nose, tilting her head as if appraising a broken piece of furniture. “He looked better in the bar,” she muttered, brushing invisible dust from her dress. “Now he’s just… pathetic.”

“That’s all men, Anna. Pathetic.”

She didn’t argue. She never did. That was why it worked.

But still, it stung—watching her lean against the wall, glamorous and untouchable even beneath the jaundiced glow of a streetlight. Even here, even now, she was the center of the story. If anyone had stumbled across us, their eyes would have gone to her first. Always her.

“Wallet,” Anna said simply, holding out her hand.

I passed it over, already stripped of what mattered. She thumbed through, smirking when she found the hotel stub. “Room 214,” she read aloud. “Guess Mr. Suburbia had a secret life.”

“Not anymore,” I murmured.

Anna pocketed the card and cash, her movements fluid, almost careless. “I’ll take care of the calls later. His accounts, his wife. You know the drill.”

I nodded. We had rehearsed this routine enough times that it felt like muscle memory. She’d make the calls, plant the evidence, sow confusion. I’d handle the mess no one else could stomach.

Together, we were perfect.

I glanced down at Robert’s lifeless face, slack mouth, wide eyes frozen in horror. Satisfaction curled in my chest—not for the death, but the silence.

No more talk about how magnetic Anna was. No more compliments meant for her, while I waited forgotten.

Now he would never see her again.

Anna adjusted her hair in a darkened window. “Do I look like I just helped kill someone?”

“You look fine,” I said flatly.

“Good.” She smiled. “Because in about ten minutes, we need to be back inside. People might notice if we’re gone too long.”

The bar was packed, loud, chaotic. No one would notice. Still, she was right—appearances mattered.

And appearances always painted her as the star. Me, as the supporting act.

We slipped back into the bar like nothing had happened. The music was louder now, the crowd thicker. Glasses clinked, laughter spilled into the air, neon lights washing everything in electric blue.

Anna was radiant again within seconds, sliding back into her seat with the grace of someone untouched by blood. Men’s eyes returned to her instantly, drawn like moths to flame.

I sat beside her, quiet, ignored.

Exactly as I was supposed to be.