Prologue
Daniel
The crowd was a living thing, surging and pulsing with the music. Daniel Mercer stood in the third row, slightly left of center, watching Cody Brennan command the stage with the kind of ease that only came from practice and talent.
Beautiful talent.
Daniel's hands were clenched at his sides. Around him, people swayed and sang, their attention focused on the man onstage but not reallyseeinghim. They only saw the persona. The brand. The carefully constructed image. They didn't see Cody the way Daniel did.
Daniel had spent the last eight months studying every interview, every documentary, every social media post, and every rare moment when the mask slipped. He knew Cody's favorite coffee. Knew that he hummed off-key when he was thinking. Knew the exact way he bit his lower lip when he was nervous—a tell that showed up consistently during interviews but never during live performances.
He knew things about Cody that Cody didn't know about himself.
As the song rose to a crescendo, Daniel watched Cody's chest rise and fall and imagined what it would feel like to place his hand there, to feel that heartbeat quicken with recognition, with fear, and with need.
The longing in Daniel's chest was almost unbearable. It twisted there, a constant presence that never quite released its grip. He'd tried to ignore it at first. Cody was just another artist, after all, just another voice on the radio. But then he'd watched an interview where Cody talked about vulnerability,about finally being honest with himself, and Daniel had locked onto him.
This was his person. His obsession. His inevitable future.
Daniel had tried other approaches first. Casual letters, nothing threatening. Just declarations of understanding, of knowing him better than anyone else ever could. But Cody hadn't even acknowledged them. That was when Daniel realized the letters needed to be more explicit. More specific. Cody was too wrapped up in his carefully maintained bubble to hear a subtle message.
So, the letters had become increasingly detailed. Descriptions of what Daniel wanted to do to him, descriptions that grew more vivid and more demanding. The lack of acknowledgment only fueled Daniel's certainty. Cody was playing hard to get. Testing Daniel's devotion, seeing if he was serious.
Danielwasserious.
The stalking had been necessary. Following Cody through cities, appearing in crowds, always watching, standing where Cody would see him, sending the message—I’m here. I see you. I’m inevitable. We’re inevitable.
And then, a few weeks ago, he'd finally done it. He'd found a way into Cody’s hotel room, past security, past all the barriers between him and his obsession. He'd stood over Cody's sleeping form and taken photographs. Proof. Evidence that he could get to Cody whenever he wanted. That the distance between them was only psychological.
Taking the photographs had been his favorite part. He'd studied them obsessively since then, every angle, every detail of Cody's face in sleep. He could see the exhaustion, the way the tension didn't fully leave his shoulders even at rest. Cody needed him. Needed someone to understand him completely, to see past the performance to the wounded man underneath.
He would be that person for Cody. He wasalreadythat person, but Cody didn’t know it yet.
The song ended. then Cody waved to the crowd, with that practiced smile in place before heading backstage.
Daniel felt the loss of sight like a physical ache. But he knew where Cody was staying. He’d go to his hotel room again. Maybe this time he would leave some of the old photographs for Cody to know that he’d been there. To let him know that Daniel was near, that he knew where Cody was, and knew where he'd go next. Knew, with absolute certainty, that this was just the beginning.
This was the part where Cody finally admitted that Daniel was right about them. That they belonged together. That all of this—the letters, the photographs, the constant presence and adoration—was love. He and Cody were perfect for one another, and soon, Cody would come to realize it too. He would come to see that Daniel was his one true love.
He had to believe that. Without it, he had nothing.
Chapter One
Cody
The spotlight felt like something physical—heat and weight and expectation pressing down on him from above. Cody Brennan's fingers moved across the guitar strings with practiced ease, muscle memory carrying him through the bridge of his bestselling song, “Honest Hearts” while twenty thousand voices sang the chorus back at him. The Arena in Nashville was packed, a sea of glowing phone screens and cowboy hats undulating in the darkness beyond the stage lights.
He should have felt alive. This was what he'd dreamed of since he was sixteen, while playing dive bars in Austin for beer money and scattered applause.
Instead, he felt hollow. His limbs moved with mechanical precision, and the silence inside him roared louder than the crowd.
Someone was watching him.
He felt ridiculous to even think it. Of course someone was watching him.Everyonewas watching him. But this was different because it wasn’t in the way that people usually watched him—the way they would watch anyone who'd had three number one albums before turning twenty-eight. This was heavier with an intensity that made Cody’s skin crawl.
He scanned the front rows during the instrumental break, and there in the third row, slightly left of center, was a familiar face. Pale and thin framed with dark, greasy hair. The same person who'd been in the crowd in Denver, Houston, and Phoenix, and quite possibly a dozen other venues without Cody even realizing. He wouldn’t have even noticed the man if hehadn’t been purposefully looking for someone suspicious. He forced himself not to stare at the man and shifted his gaze through the countless other fans who were swaying in time to the music.
Cody steadied himself through the chord change. His backup guitarist, Tyler, shot him a concerned glance, but Cody forced a smile and leaned into the final chorus. The crowd roared. He waved, blew kisses, then left, letting the stage manager guide him off into the wings. He breathed out a sigh of relief. That was his last show for a while. In the past, the end of a tour would have made him feel a sense of loss, but now it lifted a weight off his shoulders that had become too heavy to carry.
