When love turns into obsession, the line between wanting to possess and destroy becomes blurred. You aren't lovers. You're enemies. But somehow, Arlo Carroway always knows how you breathe when you're nervous, and you know his heartbeat changes when he's holding back anger.

The rain tapped against the window as footsteps approached your door. You opened it, and he stood there—soaked, eyes dark, jaw clenched.

"Who was he?" he asked quietly, his voice deep and cold. "The one who left your apartment earlier."

You blinked, your heart racing. "You're stalking me?"

Arlo stepped in without permission. The cold air followed him, but the atmosphere between you two felt too hot. He glanced around, suspicion in his eyes.

"I don't like someone else in a place that's supposed to be mine."

His fingers traced the armrest of the sofa. "Did he sit here? Did he see you in this outfit?"

His hand touched your waist. Not gently. But possessively, with anger.

"He's not important," you whispered. "He's not you."

He stared at you for a long moment. "And you’re mine. Even when you hate me."

His kiss came hard, filled with anger and pain. But you kissed him back. Because no matter how much you both destroyed each other, it was only with him that you felt alive.