She thinks it’s just a game. That if she runs far enough, I’ll get bored and move on. As if I haven’t already mapped out every inch of her life, memorised her habits, made her the centre of my entire world.
I can’t let her do this. I can’t let her think she can just walk away after I’ve finally got what I wanted.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I rip it out, hoping it’s a location ping, something to lead me to her. Nothing. Just a stupid spam message. I crush the phone in my grip, the screen cracking, but I don’t care. I’ll get a new one. I’ve already memorised her route patterns, anyway.
She’s going to realise soon enough that there’s nowhere she can go I won’t follow. No corner she can hide in where I won’t find her. I’ll drag her back by her hair if I have to. I’ll tie her to the fucking bed and keep her there until she understands she doesn’t get to leave me.
My heart pounds, and I force myself to think. If she’s smart—and I know she’s smart—she’ll head somewhere crowded, somewhere she thinks I won’t follow. But I know all her hiding places. I’ve watched her long enough to know where she goes when she’s scared.
I’ll track her down. I’ll catch her. And when I do, I’ll make her realise exactly what happens when she runs from me.
My fists are still shaking, and I wipe the blood on my jeans, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
When I get my hands on her, I’m going to make her understand. Make her feel every ounce of my anger. I’ll remind her who owns her. Who spent all this time building her up just to watch her break.
She’s not getting away.
Not now.
Not ever.
I let out a breath, forcing myself to calm down, because rage won’t help me think. I have to be smarter than she is. Cunning. Patient. She’ll slip up. She’ll get tired, or desperate, or scared. And when she does, I’ll be right there, ready to pull her back into my arms and make her see there’s no running from this.
No running from me.
I step back into the shadows, forcing my heartbeat to slow. I’ll find her. I always do.
And when I do, I’ll make sure she never tries to leave me again.
I can’t breathe.
The air feels like it’s squeezing my lungs, suffocating me from the inside. I lean against the wall, trying to steady myself, but it doesn’t work. My hands won’t stop shaking, and my vision blurs with red.
She’s gone. She fucking left me.
It doesn’t make sense. After everything we shared last night—after I showed her how it felt to be mine, how I could make her break apart and come undone—she just slipped out like it meant nothing. Like I’m nothing.
My chest aches, tight and raw, and I want to tear the world apart just to find her. How could she do this to me? How could she leave after all the time I put into her, all the effort, all the patience?
“You needed me,” I whisper to the empty alley. “You fucking needed me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to replay every moment from last night, grasping for something I missed, something I did wrong.
The way she trembled under my touch, begging me to push her further. The way she cried my name when I finally broke her, like I was the only thing keeping her sane. The way she kissed me back, clawing at my shoulders, desperate to feel more.
I can still feel the heat of her body, the way she arched up, hips grinding against mine, helpless and needy. I remember her voice cracking, pleading with me not to stop, eyes wide and glazed with desire.
“You don’t get to run from that,” I growl, punching the brick wall again, not caring when my knuckles split open. “You don’t get to act like it didn’t fucking happen.”
A flash of memory hits me—another place, another time. Another girl. Another night where I thought I’d finally found something real. I remember the way she smiled at me, promising she wouldn’t go anywhere.
I blink, and it’s gone, replaced by Raven’s face—her lips parted, whispering my name like a prayer. I shove the memory away, my pulse pounding too loud in my ears.
“Not again,” I mutter, forcing my legs to move, pacing like a caged animal. “You don’t get to fucking leave me. Not you. Not after I made you mine.”
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I whirl around, heart racing—but it’s just some drunk staggering down the opposite alley. I snarl, turning away, my mind racing.
My chest is tight—too tight. I can’t breathe without her. She’s taken something from me, something I didn’t realise I’d given, and it’s clawing at my ribs, tearing me apart from the inside out.
