Page 40 of Dark Therapy

And when she finally got it, when she looked at me and realized there was no escape, no salvation—onlyme—I’d hear her say my name again. But this time, it wouldn’t just be fear. It would be surrender. Complete. Fucking.Surrender. And it would be the most beautiful thing I’d ever fucking hear.

Millie threatened to call the cops, as if dialing three goddamn numbers would somehow save her from me.Pathetic. Like a fucking phone call could undo what’s already been done—what’sstillcoming. I almost laughed. Almost. Because it was kind of cute, really, her clinging to this flimsy little idea of safety, like it was something real. But cute doesn’t cut it, not with me. And hope? Hope is a fuckinglie. One I’m more than happy to rip out of her hands.

So I leaned in, let my words slice through her like the cold edge of a blade. Her brother.Thedetective. The one she thinks is untouchable, her knight in shining armor. I dropped his name, let it hang in the air like a loaded fucking gun, because she needs tounderstand: there are no limits with me. No fucking lines I won’t cross.

Her face—God, the way her eyes widened, the way her breath hitched. SheknewI wasn’t bluffing. Could fuckingfeelit. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The moment they realize you’re not playing by the same rules as the rest of the world. Her brother? I’d put him in the fucking ground if it meant keeping her where she belongs. Loved ones, family, innocent fucking bystanders—none of it means shit when it comes to her.

She doesn’t get it yet, not fully. Not what I’m capable of, not what I’d do to keep her. But she will. Oh, she fuckingwill. Because here’s the truth, the one she’s too scared to admit to herself: I’m not just her shadow, her obsession, her inevitable. I’m her fuckingworldnow. And in my world, no one—not her brother, not the goddamn police, notanyone—gets to take her from me.

So let her scream, let her fight, let her cling to whatever scraps of resistance she’s got left. It won’t fucking matter. I’ll tear it all apart. Every connection, every illusion of safety, every single thing she thinks can protect her—I’llcrushit. Because Millie’smine. And the sooner she figures that out, the better it’ll be for everyone.

I ended the call and leaned back, letting the silence settle around me, thick and charged. I could already taste it—thepaniccrawling under her skin, the fear sinking its claws into her chest. She thought she was clever, thought she could keep me at arm’s length, but all it took was my voice, just a few well-placed words, to crack her fragile little world wide open.

I could see her now, that perfect flinch rippling through her body. Jake, the obliviousbastard, wouldn’t even notice. Buther? Oh, she’d feel it. Thatitchshe couldn’t scratch, the cold sweat on her skin, the way my words wrapped around her throat like a vice. She was mine in that moment, whether she wanted to admit it or not.Mygood girl, already learning the rules.

I grinned to myself, thinking of all the ways I could reward her. Maybe I’d send her a little something—a sweet, innocent token to remind her who she belongs to. A note with her favorite cookie, maybe, something so normal it’d feelobscene. The thought alone sent a thrill through me. Because every fucking move she made now, every thought, was about me. I’d carved myself into her mind, and no locked door or smiling idiot like Jake was going to save her from that.

Then she ran. Like a scared little rabbit, locking doors, closing windows, her eyes darting around like the walls themselves might betray her.Fuck, it was beautiful. It didthingsto me. Watching her scramble, as if she could actually shut me out. As if a deadbolt or some cheap camera could stop me from being in every shadow she turned her back on.

Each frantic step she took was like a goddamn symphony, every panicked glance feeding thehungerroaring inside me. She was unraveling, piece by piece, and I was there, savoringevery fucking second of it. She didn’t get it yet, notfully. That no matter what she did, no matter how fast she ran, I was always going to be there. In her head. In her fuckingveins.

It took her too long to settle, her little dance of desperation dragging out like a masterpiece I couldn’t stop watching. Pacing, checking, locking, unlocking—she was like an animal caught in its own trap, thrashing and panicked, not realizing she’d already lost. And then, finally, exhaustion claimed her, her body surrendering where her mind never could.

And me? Iwaited, a predator in the dark, watching, savoring, knowing that the fear wasn’t gone. It never would be. Not as long as I was in her world. And I wasn’t going anywhere.

When her breathing slowed, steady and soft like a lullaby for the damned, I knew she was mine—completely fucking mine. I moved then, quiet as death itself, slipping around to the back door, where her so-called security faltered. She’d been careful, sure, but not carefulenough. The cracks were there, waiting for me, practically begging me to step through and claim what was already mine. Her little fortress of safety was nothing but a joke, and I was the punchline.

Inside, the scent of her hit me like a goddamndrug. Sweet, soft, and laced with something that made my blood fuckingboil. I inhaled deeply, letting it settle in my lungs, feeding the twisted obsession burning under my skin.Fuck, it was everywhere, clinging to the air, the furniture, the walls, like she was leaving pieces of herself behind just for me to find.

My fingers brushed against her things as I moved, each touch a reverent claim. A book she’d dog-eared, the sweater she’d left on the arm of the couch, even the fucking coffee cup in the sink—it was allhers, and now it wasmine. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d built this life for me to step into, a world where every corner whispered her name and begged me to stay.

And then I found her.

The bedroom was dark, but the faint glow of the moon cast her in soft light, painting her like a goddamn masterpiece just for me. She was so serene, lying there in her little bubble of oblivion, completelydefenseless. Her hair spilled across the pillow like a dark halo, her lips parted slightly as if whispering secrets to the night. Fuck. She wasperfection, and she didn’t even know it.

I stood there for a moment, letting the sight of her wash over me. She was at my mercy now. The darkness inside me roared, urging me forward, telling me to take, toclaim, to leave a mark so deep she’d never forget. My hands twitched with the urge to touch, to press, toown.

And I did. Slowly, I climbed onto the bed, careful not to wake her. My knees sank into the mattress on either side of her, framing her body like a predator closing in on its prey. I hovered above her, close enough to feel theheatradiating off her skin, close enough to hear the soft whisper of her breaths. Her chest rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm, and I matched my own breathing to hers, letting her pull me into her world without even knowing it.

Fuck.

The urge to press closer, to leave an imprint so deep she’d feel me even in her dreams, clawed at me. My cock throbbed, my fingers ached, every nerve in my body screamed for release. But no. Not yet.

Patience. This was a moment to savor. A slow, perfect descent into madness, where I ruled her world and she didn’t even fucking know it.Yet.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, my gaze tracing every detail of her face. The way her eyelashes kissed her cheeks, the slight twitch of her lids—she was dreaming. Maybe somewhere, deep in that unconscious little world of hers, she knew something wasn’t right. Maybe she couldfeelthe weight of me in her room, the storm brewing just inches from her perfect, defenseless form. Vulnerability clung to her like a second skin, and fuck, it wasintoxicating.

She didn’t know I was here. That made it all the better. A lamb in her own den, wrapped in the false comfort of her little sanctuary. The locks, the cameras, the rituals to keep herself safe—it was all bullshit. I was inside. I wasalwaysinside. And this moment? It was mine. Stolen, secret,sacred. She belonged to me, even if she didn’t know it yet. Hell,especiallybecause she didn’t know it yet.

I stayed still, patient, letting the quiet thrum of her breathing match the wild rhythm of my pulse. Every second dragged sweetly into the next, anticipation twisting itself into somethingdark and electric. I could alreadyseeit—how her face would become when she woke. The moment those beautiful, honeyed eyes opened, whenterrorbegan to seep into her sleepy gaze. That fear would be mine. Crafted for me, shaped byme, etched onto her face like a goddamn work of art.

I let the possibilities unfold in my head, savoring them like a fine whiskey. What would I do? How far could I push her, twist her,breakher? I didn’t need to touch her, not yet. The tension in the air, the control I held over this moment, was a sharper thrill than any physical act. My hands stayed at my sides, fists clenched with restraint, even as Iburnedto leave my mark.

She stirred, her body shifting beneath me, soft and unsuspecting.Fuck. My breath caught as her lashes fluttered,teasingme with the promise of what was to come. She wassoclose now, teetering on the edge of wakefulness, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. My whole body tensed, the anticipation building to something sharp and unbearable. I wanted toseeit—the exact moment her peace shattered, when she realized the nightmare wasn’t something she could just wake from.

And then it happened. Her eyes opened.

For a heartbeat, there was calm. Confusion flickered in her gaze, soft and unfocused, like she was still clinging to the last shreds of a dream. But reality has a way of cutting through soft things, doesn’t it? Slowly, like ink spreading through water, understanding dawned. Her pupils blew wide, her breathing hitched, and fuck, theterrorbloomed. It was raw, unfiltered, painted across her face like the most exquisite canvas I’d ever seen.