Page 63 of Dark Therapy

I leaned against the brick wall, swallowed by shadows, my eyes fixed on her. She was right there, standing in that café, her back turned to the window. The world around her was chaos—coffee machines whirring, people laughing, chatting, oblivious. But to me? She was theonlygoddamn thing that existed.

She didn’t know I was there, didn’t feel my gaze cutting through the glass, didn’t sense the tension pulling tight like a noose around her perfect little bubble. I watched how she moved, the way her head tilted when she laughed, that same laugh that used to echo in my ears long after she was gone. It hadn’t changed.None of her had.

She was still so fuckingunaware, wasn’t she? Still living in that cozy little world where monsters like me were juststoriesto scare children, not shadows that stalked your every step.

Her perfume was the same. God, I could smell it from here. Sweet, sharp, invasive—it clung to my memory like blood on my hands. I could taste it, feel it thick on my tongue, just like before.

Her smile was the same, too. That curve of her lips, soft and sweet, like she had no clue how close she was to everything unraveling. I wanted toruinit. Wanted to see it twisted into something darker, something raw.

Tonight, she wouldn’t be oblivious anymore.

Tonight, Millie, I’m close enough to fuckingtasteyou again.

She didn’t see me. Not yet. She wouldn’t, not until I wanted her to. I was too careful for that, too precise. ButIsaw her. Ialwayssaw her. Every movement, every breath. I knew her better than anyone ever could. And soon, she’d feel it—feelme. Thatpull. The invisible thread tying us together, choking us both in a way only I could control.

Her eyes skimmed the café, restless and searching, landing on faces that didn’t matter. She didn’t know what she was looking for—not consciously. But I did. She was looking forme. She always had been. She just didn’t realize it yet. Everything—her choices, her life, every fucking step she’d taken—it all led to this.Tome.

I could almost hear her heartbeat from across the room, the quick, uneven rhythm like a song written just for me. The tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers trembled when she reached for her coffee cup—fuck, it was beautiful. A silent symphony of fear and anticipation. Shefeltit, even if she couldn’t name it. That electric hum under her skin. The same pull that burned in me.

I smirked, leaning back into the shadows, my gaze locked on her like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. She wouldn’t notice me—notyet—but I saw the flicker in her eyes, that slight hitch in her breath. Maybe she thought it was nothing. A ghost of a memory. But it was me. I was there, just out of reach, wrapping myself around her mind like smoke.

Her body betrayed her, shivering as if some part of her already knew. And I fuckingsmiled.

She had no idea, but she was already mine again.

I let the moment stretch, drinking in her tension, the quiet chaos swirling in her eyes. It was suffocating in the best way, thick and heady. I could almost taste it—the sharp flavor of her unease. I wanted to becloser, to hear the sharp intake of her breath when I finally said her name. To see thepanicbloom in her eyes when she realized there wasnoescape.

But not yet. Not now. Timing was everything, and patience was my sharpest blade.

Because when you wait long enough, when you build the tension just right, the moment you strike is fuckingexquisite.

She couldn’t feel me lurking in the shadows, but I could feel every inch of her—every fucking detail etched into my mind like scripture. I had been waiting, watching, orchestrating this moment with the kind of care she’d never understand.

She would never escape me again.

The game had begun, and the tension wasn’t just a noose tightening around her neck—it wasmyhandpulling it, one agonizing inch at a time. Millie moved through the streets like a lamb oblivious to the wolf stalking her, her slender frameswallowed in that coat, her eyes darting around with the same fragile wariness I’d carved into her years ago.

She didn’t know. She had no fucking idea that I washere, breathing the same air, shadowing her every step. For hours, I’d followed her, letting her thread herself deeper into my web, and the anticipation burned in my chest likefire.

Not yet. Not fucking yet.

There was an art to this kind of torment, a beauty in the unraveling. I kept just close enough to drink in every detail but far enough that she couldn’t feel the heat of my presence. Not until I wanted her to. Her little gestures told me everything—the twitch of her fingers against her phone, the habitual glance at her watch, the way she avoided every pair of eyes that turned her way. Innocent to anyone else,but not to me.

Those movements screamed louder than any words:Take control. Take me.She didn’t even know she was asking for it. ButIdid. I always knew.

I melted into the crowd, just another shadow in a city full of strangers. No one noticed me. They never do. That’s whatmakes this fun. But Millie? Oh, Milliefeltit. She just didn’t realize it yet. Her hand trembled when she walked into a random store. She glanced over her shoulder—quick, fleeting, unthinking.

Inside the shop, she tried to bury herself in theillusionof normalcy, flicking through racks of clothes she didn’t care about. I watched from outside, a ghost in the window’s reflection, grinning as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve, her jaw tightening when someone brushed past her.

She’s starting to feel it.

Thepull. The weight of me.

My fingers twitched. The hunger gnawed at me now, a beast clawing at my insides. It wasn’t enough to watch. I wanted to step inside, to feel her bodyfreezewhen she saw me, to see the exact moment her fear turned to recognition. To let her realize that she wasneversafe, not really.

But no.Notyet.

She left the store eventually, her movements rigid, almost mechanical. I stayed in the background, my shadow slipping through hers, always just out of sight. Close enough tofeelher, but far enough that she wouldn’t catch on.Notyet.