His eyes were hard, daring, unblinking, drilling into me with the kind of intensity that made my breath hitch, every line of his body rigid and simmering beneath the surface.
Suddenly, Mark’s approach felt wrong. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the pulse so loud I thought everyone must hear it.
This wasn’t right.
But then, another thought crept in, just as fast as the panic had settled. What the hell was I doing? He didn’t own me. Theon had no right to look at me like that, no right to make me feel like I was the one crossing the line. We weren’t in a relationship, and whatever twisted game he thought he was playing didn’t mean I had to bow to his silent orders.
If anything, I had every reason to turn the tables. After everything he’d done—sneaking into my house, leaving that letter at my friend’s place like some psychotic stalker—he had no claim over me.
Mark was close now, standing right in front of me, his eyes flicking between my eyes and my lips. I straightened my back, chin tilting up.
Maybe this was my chance to get back at him. If kissing him would get under Theon’s skin, then maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.
I stood up, and Mark’s palm rested on my cheek. The circle was close to quiet, quiet enough for my friends’ warning whispers to get to me. Everyone must have seen him, except Mark, because he was backing Theon.
I doubted he would say anything to stop this. He rarely spoke in public, like the world wasn’t worth the air and strength he’d waste communicating.
As I tore my gaze from him and lowered Mark’s head, he proved me wrong.
Not entirely. His voice was quiet, but so fucking audible in our ears. “You’re really going to make him do it,” he drawled, his eyes pinned on me.
Mark turned, and his jaw clenched.
Theon shrugged, casually leaning against the bannister. “Do it.” He was looking at Mark now. “Kiss her.”
He could have also told him to take a knife and stab himself. His eyes held no friendliness. They seemed bored, but I was aware of what was lurking under that nonchalant mask of his.
The air was tense, Mark was torn between kissing me and sitting his ass down. Saving him the trouble, I pushed past him to the stairs where Theon stood.
“You’re a dick,” I told him and went into the kitchen to hydrate myself. I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and almost hissed when I turned to find him standing close to me.
Finally, he let his true self bleed into his eyes. “That was very stupid.”
I was dumbstruck. Insulted even. “Excuse you. I’ve told you to stop acting like you own me.”
“Must sting, thinking you can keep running from me.”
I retorted. “Must be exhausting, trying and failing to keep me out of your head. You’re such an asshole. Couldn’t you have walked away?”
“Walked away?” His voice was low, the kind of low that sent spiders crawling up my spine. “If I had the mind to pretend I didn’t see that, you’d have been long dead.” His hand snaked around my neck, pulling me closer until I felt the heat radiating off him, his body caging mine against the fridge. “Breaking you would have been easier. Exhilarating.”
My cheeks flared hot, my pulse hammering in my ears as I caught the unhinged truth swirling in his hazel eyes. It was raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly familiar. Obsession. It pounded.
I had looked it up last night before I went to sleep, as if knowing the meaning would make sense of the chaos that was Theon Ryder. The dictionary described it clinically:an uncontrollable, persistent preoccupation with someone or something.A condition, they called it—something dark and twisted, far deeper than love, more volatile than lust. Something you couldn’t switch off, even if you wanted to. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t healthy.
But what I saw in his eyes each time, this…this was beyond words.
His grip on my neck was firm, but not painful, the pressure making my skin tingle. The way he stared at me wasn’t just about control; it was possession, it made me feel like I wasn’t a person anymore but a thing—something he could claim. Something he had already decided was his, whether I agreed or not. I knew.
And the worst part? The terrifying part?
It wasn’t just him.
I was starting to feel it too—the pull. It was coming back.
His thumb was pressed against the side of my throat, pulse beating beneath it, his mouth hovering inches from mine, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
“Whatever you saw in me to have you...hooked,” I managed, my voice tight, “it’s not real. You can’t just take me and—”
