My blood turned to ice. “What the fuck?”
I clicked on the link with shaking fingers, and cold dread flooded my limbs like poison. The image that filled my screen made my knees nearly buckle.
Dakota. Half conscious. Tied to a chair.
No. No, no, no.
58
DAKOTA
Mathew slipped on a ski mask and came over to me. Instinctively, I recoiled away from him, but he merely chuckled.
“So dramatic,” he muttered, sweeping some fallen hair back into position.
“What are you doing, Ma?—”
The blur of his hand registered a millisecond before pain exploded across my cheek. Hard. So hard, my head whipped to the left, and stars danced behind my eyelids.
“If you want the privilege of continuing to have a tongue, you’ll be careful with your words.”
My cheekbone throbbed like a drum, but I pushed through the pain and turned back to him. Oh. He was trying to keep his identity hidden. For the cameras.
Like anyone watching won’t figure out it’s my unstable ex-boyfriend.
“What are you doing?” I managed.
“You thought you could just push me away? After everything I’ve done for you?” His voice cracked with hurt and rage. A dangerous combination.
My mind scrambled to understand. “What are you talking about?”
“I made you, Dakota. I was your first fan. First person who believed in you when you were nothing.”
I blinked away the shock swimming in my vision.
“Username BlushBabe123 ring a bell?” He asked.
My jaw fell open, horror swirling in my chest like a warning siren sounding far too late. “Youare BlushBabe123?”
I could hear his smirk beneath the mask. “The one and only.”
No. No, no, no.
My stomach dropped to my feet. I thought that person was some girl who appreciated my makeup tutorials and hair product reviews. But after a while, BlushBabe123 started to creep me out. I’d post a video, and fifteen seconds later, there would be a comment, like they were just sitting there watching my account, waiting for me to post something. I told myself I was being paranoid, that the girl probably just had alerts set up on her phone. Plus, that was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Engagement?
God, I was so stupid.
Now I replayed all of that through this new lens. That had been Mathew the entire time? Long before we ever “met”? And when we did meet, he’d claimed he’d never seen my online account.
“I was your biggest supporter before anyone else cared. I saw your potential when you were nobody.”
He leaned down, bringing those dark eyes—and, Jesus, the black had spread through them like ink, like the Devil himself had drained away all the color—closer to mine.
“I helped cultivate your rise.” His tone dripped with ownership. “I created a hundred usernames to comment on your posts. The algorithms love that kind of engagement.”
A hundred different accounts? It was a full-time job for me to keep up with just one. That wasn’t support.
It was obsession.
