He’s always been there. Watching. Waiting. And now, he’s done waiting. I feel him before I see him—shadowed eyes in the dark, a presence I can’t shake. For weeks, I’ve sensed it. The weight of a stare. A whisper of danger in the night air. I told myself it was paranoia. I told myself I was imagining things. I was wrong. He’s here now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to take. "You’re coming with me," he says, leaving me no choice. No escape. I should fight. Scream. Run. But there’s nowhere to go. And the way he looks at me—like I already belong to him—terrifies me more than being caught. Because deep down, a part of me wonders… What if I do? A dark, obsessive read. No slow burn, no escape, no mercy.