“Please—” I rasp, lungs on fire.
He releases me so suddenly I collapse forward, coughing, gulping air that tastes like panic. I rub the burning ring around my throat, tears stinging.
My college boyfriend? We dated for two weeks. How was that enough to turn him into a stalker?
“I didn’t know—” I manage, reaching one trembling hand toward him. “You could’vejust told me—”
“Don’t fucking pretend,” he roars, pointing a shaking finger at me, face flushed crimson. “That guy was six-foot-something, with a tattoo. You have a type, don’t you?”
I shake my head, frantic. “I—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off, voice razor-sharp. “You played with me that night. Pretended you liked me. But I wasn’t enough. So I made sure no one else would ever touch you until I did.”
He strides forward, yanks me up by my arms, and slams me back against the rough wooden wall. My skull cracks against pine; stars explode behind my eyes.
His hands slide to my waist, pinning me. “Then you met Viviana. The Callaghans.” A bitter laugh tears out of him. “Ironic, isn’t it? You fell straight into my world.”
My head spins, nausea rising.
“I went to work for Flanagan just to keep tabs,” he whispers, fisting my hair, wrenching my head back so I have to look at him. “Checked your name, your phones, your pretty little life. No one cared.”
He crushes his mouth to mine, brutal, punishing, all teeth and rage. I taste blood and bile.
“Then that function,” he snarls against my lips, “you fucked him. Gave him what was mine.”
He hurls me to the floor. My shoulder hits hardwood; pain shoots through me.
“You became his slut.” He spits on the ground beside my face. “Married him? I thought you were better than that.”
He drops to his knees, expression melting into something almost kind. He gathers me against his chest like I’m made of glass.
“Even after everything you did to me,” he murmurs, stroking my hair, “I still love you.”
His arms tighten, tender and terrifying.
“You and I were always meant to be together,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
I lie frozen in the cradle of a madman, heart hammering so hard I’m sure he feels it.
“I tried so hard, Autumn,” he murmurs, rocking us gently, lips brushing my hair in endless, feverish kisses. “I changed everything. Became everything you wanted. And you still didn’t see me.”
“You burned my apartment,” I whisper, soft, careful, like I’m soothing a cornered animal. “I could’ve died.”
He rocks me gently, one hand stroking my hair slowly and gently. “Oh baby, I didn’t mean to.” His voice is velvet regret. “It was supposed to be one small fire. Just a reminder to obey me. I saw that little paper you taped to your window.” He smiles against my temple. “But your landlord had the whole place soaked in illegal shit. One spark and…” He shrugs, apologetic. “Whoosh.”
His thumb lifts my chin, forcing my eyes to his. They’re glassy with adoration and something colder underneath.
“I tried to visit you in the hospital,” he murmurs, “but the Callaghans never left your side. Guard dogs.” The tenderness cracks; his jaw tightens like the memory still tastes sour.
He releases my chin, fingers drifting back to my hair, petting, petting.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he says again, softer, almost wounded.
I nod, slow, swallowing the scream clawing up my throat
I force my eyes open. The room swims into focus, and my stomach drops.
Candles flicker on every surface, vanilla and jasmine, my favourite incense curling in lazy ribbons. A soft forest-green towel hangs on the bathroom door, exactly the shade I had before my apartment went up in flames. And there, on the nightstand, positioned like a shrine, sits my camera.
